


No Light In the Dark

by astro_noms



Series: No Limited Dimensions [2]
Category: BioShock, Sherlock Holmes (2009), The Prestige (2006)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-01
Updated: 2011-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 08:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astro_noms/pseuds/astro_noms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steampunk-ish AU/2K Games/Irrational Games' <em>Bioshock</em> fusion/<em>The Prestige</em> (post-movie) crossover. Mycroft  sends Holmes and Watson to the underwater city Arcadia to investigate why Lord Hammond has gone missing, and why all contact with the city has been lost. Their investigation starts off rather badly when someone tries to kill them, and only goes downhill from there as they realize they've walked straight into an armed conflict between an insane magician in search of the perfect trick, and a mad scientist fiercely protective of his secrets. Along the way, there are dinosaurs, near-death experiences, close encounters of the tentacle kind, insane magicians, unexpected clones, angst, heartbreak, mad scientists, and life-threatening decisions made impulsively and without consideration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Light In the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 Holmes Big Bang, sequel to last year's HBB story, [When the Nothing Shines Upon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/99316) (but it can stand alone). See the [master post](http://wtfbrain.livejournal.com/1473114.html) for more detailed notes and links to art.

_"The process of delving into the black abyss is to me the keenest form of fascination."_  
—H.P. Lovecraft

 

"Honestly, Holmes, I don't see why we can't have just taken the week off. With Mary and Irene off... wherever they are, we could have gotten away, perhaps gone to the sea—"

"I hate the sea," Sherlock groused, interrupting Watson. "Besides, Lestrade needed our help."

"Lestrade _always_ needs our help," Watson sighed, sinking into his usual chair by the window. "If it's not one thing, it's another. But honestly, Holmes, I would have never thought you'd take this case. Are you really so bored that you'll take missing pet cases now?"

"It was a very important client," Sherlock said. "And say what you will," he said, taking his place in the other chair, "it was entertaining."

Watson couldn't help but grin. "True. Can we at least take a few days off? Sleep in tomorrow, have a late breakfast in bed, that sort of thing?"

"I should be happy to oblige you, John," Sherlock said, his voice going soft, "but alas, I fear we're about to have company." He brushed some lint off the lapel of his smoking jacket and reached for his pipe.

"Lestrade again?" Watson sighed.

Holmes shook his head, closing his eyes as he exhaled. "It's my brother," he said.

Before Watson could say anything, the door swung open and Mycroft Holmes swept into the room, unbuttoning his coat and taking it off to drop it on the couch.

"Hello, Sherlock. Nice work on your latest case," he smirked. "That was quite a feat, retrieving those lost kittens. Your bravery and valor are sure to become the talk of the city."

"All right, Mycroft, what do you want?" Sherlock snapped, putting his pipe down. "Or did you just come here to mock us?"

"My dear brother, I've merely come to offer you a reprieve from what appears to be a rather devastating case of ennui," Mycroft grinned. "I must say, the four of you have made your life together very successful, and I applaud you for that. Unfortunately, it seem that with your lady loves out of town, you two seem to have become mired in mundanity. Of course, if you're not interested..."

"He's interested," Watson snapped, sitting up. "He's very interested. As am I," he added, looking away from Mycroft's amused glance.

"Very well, then," Mycroft said. "You're familiar with Lord John Hammond, I assume?"

"Explorer, scientist, benefactor of practically every museum in the city," Holmes said, his tone carefully neutral. "What about him?"

"He's disappeared," Mycroft said. "Or, to be more precise, we know the last place he was seen, we just have no way of verifying either his whereabouts or his welfare." He paused, clearing his throat. "Arcadia's gone silent, and all we're picking up is a strange, unidentified sound. We've tried cycling through all the frequencies, and there's nothing but that damned sound."

"What exactly is Arcadia?" Watson asked quietly.

"It's—"

"It's an experiment," Sherlock interrupted Mycroft. "Part research project, funded by some of the richest men in England, intended to advance science and technology, part experiment in how extreme living conditions affect people. Very hush hush, kept secret from all but a select few, of course."

"Of whom you are not one, Sherlock," Mycroft frowned at him. "Just how did you get access to classified information?"

"There's a lot one can learn with the judicious application of alcohol to the right person," Sherlock gave him a smirk. "Anyway, you were saying?"

"Lord Hammond went to Arcadia to check on the progress of some of his projects, and he's overdue. We tried contacting the station, and the city, but as I said, there's nothing but the signal. The other investors are getting anxious."

"Why don't you just send some of your Diogenes Club boys?" Sherlock asked. "I'm sure they're all chomping at the bit to get a chance to show off, like eager little puppies performing for their master."

Mycroft took a deep breath and let it out slowly, closing his eyes. "I can't send them because the experienced ones are in the field, doing other work, and the younger ones are far too young. The independent agents I've sent in haven't been in contact, so I'm worried something's happened to them, too." He sighed. "Look, I'm prepared to offer you a rather significant sum if that's what it'll take to get you to investigate."

"Surely there is the police, or a private security force that could investigate this?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the rather intent way Watson was glaring at him.

"You two have experience dealing with the unusual," Mycroft said. "And with the lack of excitement in your lives lately, I thought you'd be willing to take the case."

"How do you know so much about our lives?" Watson frowned.

"I make it a point to know what all my assets are up to at all times," Mycroft gave him a smug smile.

"I'm not sure I appreciate being called an asset," Sherlock groused, which made Mycroft's smile grow wider.

"What makes you think you have a choice?"

Watson glared at him. "What are you—"

"We'll take the case," Sherlock interrupted him, getting to his feet. "The fee, payable up front. All the data you have, both Nereus Station and Arcadia, and the projects in development. Have everything delivered here tonight, we'll leave tomorrow."

"Of course, Sherlock," Mycroft stood up and reached for his coat. "The courier will be by within the hour."

"Have him leave the materials with Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock told him, walking to the door and holding it open. "Watson and I have some things to take care of before he travel."

"As you wish," Mycroft put on his coat. "Nice to see you again, dear brother. Doctor Watson," he nodded briefly to Watson, before leaving.

Sherlock closed the door after Mycroft. "Well?"

Watson sighed, getting up from his chair. "And I was so looking forward to taking the weekend off. But I suppose we should start packing. Where are we going, anyway?"

"Don't worry about the packing just yet," Holmes told him, walking toward him and crowding Watson up against the bookcase. "We won't be able to leave until tomorrow evening, and anyway," he leaned in until his lips brushed Watson's as he spoke, "we've got something more important to take care of first."

#

The airship captain had looked dubious about Nereus Station, floating on the ocean surface in the middle of nowhere, but he shrugged and ordered the crew to descend until they could tie up at one of the mooring pylons. Since there was no reply from the station to all their hails in the last six hours, he'd decided that if Messrs. Holmes and Watson wanted to, they could disembark at the station, but neither he nor any of his crew would be setting foot on it.

"You've paid for the privilege to holiday anywhere you please, gentlemen, but if I were you, I'd stay on the ship and let us take you somewhere a little more lively."

"We appreciate the concern, Captain, but this is hardly a holiday," Watson said.

"We go where we're sent," Holmes grinned, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

The captain gave them one last suspicious look, then left them in the loading bay. They watched the ship descend and approach the mooring pylon, until it was close enough that a ramp extended from the ship would bridge the distance.

"This is as far as we go, gentlemen," the captain's voice rang out in the loading bay. "There's a storm coming, so we won't be able to wait for you in case you change your minds. Once you're down there, you're on your own."

Holmes pressed the button on the shipboard radio. "Thank you, captain. Have a safe trip back to port." He released the radio button and put his hand on the door controls. Turning to Watson, he grinned. "Ready?"

"If I said no, would that stop you?" Watson tightened the strap of his bag.

"Atta boy," Holmes laughed, and threw the switch. The door swung open, the ramp extending automatically. The ship dipped and rose again, the ramp scraping against the pylon with a loud screech. Holmes leaned out the door, looked around, and then stepped onto the ramp.

"For God's sake, Holmes, be careful!" Watson told him, watching his progress. He leaned out of the door, looking down at the mooring pylon, the narrow ladder the only way down. He'd seen similar structures at aerodromes before, and passengers never disembarked this high up, the higher docks were used only for ships that were waiting their turn to descend and dock at the lower levels.

"Come on, Watson!" Holmes called to him, already clinging to the rungs of the ladder. "What are you waiting for?"

"To see if I wake up," Watson muttered, adjusting his bag once again. He waited as long as he could, hoping that the entire business would turn out to be a dream, and he'd wake up in his bed, with one or more warm bodies next to him. Alas, it was not to be. He took a deep breath and stepped out onto the narrow ramp.

Holmes was already climbing down, making his way down the rungs at a rate that made Watson's heart leap to his throat. He'd barely grabbed the first rung when the ramp swung away from the pylon, already folding back inside. The airship dipped slightly, and Watson caught sight of the captain throwing them a salute through the window before the ship moved away. Without the shelter of the airship, a cold gust of wind slammed into him, and he ducked his head, trying to protect his face.

The ladder rungs were slippery, and Watson made his way down cautiously. When he finally reached the deck of the station, Holmes was already inside, his bag left abandoned at the foot of the mooring pylon. Sighing, he picked up the bag and made his way into the glassed-in observation station. Out of the cold, biting wind, he could look around and appreciate the panoramic view. The station floated on the surface, folded out like a massive metal flower. All around it was the ocean, stretching out as far as the eye could see.

"We're almost exactly at the pole of inaccessibility," Holmes told him, coming up behind him. "I've heard stories about this region of the ocean. Over fifteen hundred miles to land, in any direction, and strange things lurking below the surface. Monsters, they say."

"We'd best get on with our job, then," Watson said, turning to Holmes, "so we can get out of this godforsaken place and go home."

"As you wish," Holmes nodded, stepping back from Watson. "We should look around. So far, this place appears to be deserted."

"It can't be," Watson shook his head. "A station this large, it needs a crew."

"It does indeed," Holmes said, "but they seem to be nowhere in sight."

"I'm going to regret saying this," Watson said, "but we should split up. You take the bridge and the crew stations, and I'll check the sleeping quarters and the other facilities. We'll meet here in half an hour?"

"I've already checked the bridge," Holmes said. "It's just through there," he motioned to a door when Watson looked at him in surprise. "I found the captain's log, they had a big storm about a week ago, and the crew was preparing to head down into the city to ride it out." He headed through the door and Watson followed him.

"Surely they wouldn't _all_ go and leave the station unattended?" Watson shook his head. "I don't like this, Holmes. There's something wrong here."

"Let's not jump to conclusions just yet," Holmes chided. "No point in getting paranoid over nothing."

"I'd rather be paranoid than caught by surprise," Watson said, lifting his chin defiantly. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, Holmes, but good things don't usually come from creepy abandoned places like this."

"All right, you have a point," Holmes conceded, looking around. The bridge was littered with scattered papers, and Watson picked one of them up. JOIN US AT THE PROMENADE FESTIVAL, the poster said, promising a "retreat from the mundanity of day to day living," and entertainment in the form of magic shows, music and dancing, and finally, a grand masquerade ball to top off the events.

"I'd say they've gone down for the festival," he held up the poster, "but again, I don't think they'd have all gone and left not even a skeleton crew up here."

"Whatever happened to them," Watson said, looking out the windows at the darkening sky outside, "I think we need to get down below as well. That storm doesn't look very friendly."

"Give me my bag," Holmes said, holding his hand out. "Mycroft gave us a map of the place and access codes, it shouldn't be too hard to find a way down." He took the bag from Watson and rummaged through it, pulling out a sheaf of papers in a leather case. He folded out the map and laid it on the table, smoothing out the creases. "It looks like we're here," he pointed to a spot roughly in the center of the structure. "And the lift is... over here, it shouldn't take us long to get there."

"What about the station? Won't it be affected by the storm?"

"I would say it's ridden out more than one storm," Holmes said. "See these struts here, and here, and here?" He pointed out several spots on the map. "Those are anchor cables, holding it down to the ocean floor, stabilizing it. At worst, it might get a bit bumpy in the storms. What's the matter, Watson, worried about your sea legs?" He grinned.

Watson ignored him, bending over the map. "Is this right? There is a propulsion system underneath the station, able to lift it up?"

Holmes looked over the map and nodded. "I think so. The station looks like a smaller, more rudimentary version of an aerodrome, it makes sense that it would be movable. I'd wager that's how they got it here, towed by airships, and then lowered to the ocean surface. It's quite ingenious, really."

"Let's admire the ingenuity from down below," Watson said, reaching for the map and folding it. "It's starting to rain, we should go."

They had to cross the outside platform to get to the lift, getting soaked by the downpour. Watson shivered as rivulets of water found their way under his collar and down his back. Holmes reached the door to the lift first, and by the time Watson joined him, had the cabin open and was stepping inside. It was surprisingly roomy, with a bench against one wall, and half the walls made out of a translucent material. Holmes tapped it with his knuckles, and then with his ring, and it clinked like glass.

"This is remarkably clear," he said. "Looks like we'll have a good view going down," he added, looking down at the window set into the floor of the cabin. He unbuttoned his coat and sat down. "Come in and close the door, Watson," he patted the bench beside him. He had the map out again, and was looking it over, consulting some of the notes Mycroft had sent along with it.

"Says here the facilities are constantly being upgraded and changed," he said, looking up from the notes. "The map might not be entirely accurate."

"Nice of Mycroft to let us know," Watson said wryly, taking off his coat and shaking it out. "All right, what now?"

"There seems to be only one stop," Holmes pointed at the control panel by the door. There were only two buttons, labeled "topside" and "down," and Watson reached out, pressing the "down" button. It lit up with a cheery yellow glow, and the lights in the cabin came on, bathing the interior in a warm light. The door slid shut and the whole cabin lurched, then began to slowly sink into the platform.

As they watched, the lift sank into a metal-lined tube, then landed in the water with a splash that sounded like waves crashing. As the water rose above the lift, the tunnel ended, and the lift started to slowly move, sliding down on the cable running through the metal tube in the middle of it. The cabin lurched, sounds of groaning metal coming from above.

"What's going on?" Watson craned his neck to try and get a look above them, but the darkness enveloping them made it impossible to see anything.

"I'd say the storm has arrived," Holmes said. "My guess is that the station's being tossed about on the waves."

"Let's hope the tossing doesn't rip anything important loose," Watson muttered. He stared out into the water. "I wish there was a way to see where we are."

"The city's at over thirteen thousand feet," Holmes said, looking around the cabin. "I imagine it'll be a while before there's anything to see." He spotted a small door set into the metal tube, and opened it up, revealing an instrument panel. "Look, there's a depth gauge over here."

They examined the panel together, watching the numbers click over slowly, and Watson pointed to a button labeled EXT. ILLUM. "Do you think—?"

"One way to find out," Holmes said, pressing the button. Lights came on outside the cabin, chasing the darkness back from the descending cabin. He looked down through the window at their feet, one of the spotlights illuminating the cable they were traveling down. They sat in silence, staring out into the depths of the ocean.

"There's nothing out there," Watson said after a while, looking away from the wall window. "I'd have thought there would be fish, or something."

"I suspect it's too cold for most of them," Holmes said. "And the big city at the bottom probably doesn't help."

"How long till we reach it?"

"We're over halfway down," Holmes said, glancing at the depth gauge. "We should be able to see the city soon."

Just then the cabin lurched, sending them both tumbling off the bench.

"What the hell happened?" Watson picked himself up off the floor.

Holmes was still down on his knees, looking out through the floor window. "I think we have a problem," he said.

"What's going on?" Watson knelt down beside him.

"The cable," Holmes pointed. "It's lost its tension."

"Did the storm do this? Rip the cable loose?"

"Our ride down wouldn't have been as smooth if the station were getting tossed around," Holmes shook his head. "It had to have been cut, or released, from the other end."

"What are you saying, Holmes, that someone down there severed it?"

"Exactly."

"But why?"

"Either they want to cut themselves off from the station, and the outside world, or someone down there doesn't want us reaching the city."

Holmes got to his feet, and made his way around the cabin, examining the walls and all the equipment.

"What are you doing?"

"The lift is fastened to the anchor cables," Holmes said. "If they're not kept under tension, we can't go back to the station, and we haven't got enough buoyancy to carry us up naturally. Besides, that's not where we want to go anyway. If I can vent the air—"

"Are you out of your mind? We'll die!"

"Haven't we had this conversation before?" Holmes grinned at him. "We need to get down to the city before the cable drifts free and we have nothing to guide us down." He tapped one of the panels. "Here, this is the one."

"All right," Watson nodded. "Do it, before I think better of it."

Holmes slammed his hand down on a button and the cabin shuddered, then started moving faster than before. As the cabin drifted down, a glow from below broke up the darkness around them.

"Look at that," Watson breathed. The city stretched out farther than he'd expected, laid out like a splayed hand, its different parts connected by corridors, the whole thing glowing like a gigantic starfish. "It's magnificent." He looked to Holmes, who was looking up, eyeing the trail of air bubbles they were leaving behind. "What is it?"

"I certainly hope we don't run out of air before we reach the city."

"Oh, excellent, we've got death by suffocation to look forward to."

"That's the spirit, Watson," Holmes gave him a smile. "Look on the bright side of things."

They watched the city grow large enough to fill their entire field of vision, and then the lift was all the way down, bouncing off a domed structure hard enough to smash them into each other and the wall, and sliding off it to land on the ocean floor. As they picked themselves up, Watson realized he was kneeling in water.

"I hate to darken the bright side of things, but we seem to have sprung a leak," he said. "And the water level is rising rather quickly."

"At least we won't die of suffocation, then," Holmes said brightly. "What do you think will kill us first, drowning or hypothermia?" Now that the cabin lay on its side, the bench was of no use to them, but they climbed on the tube that housed the drive mechanism, temporarily out of the water.

The cabin's exterior lights were still on, and Holmes looked out at their surroundings. "Look over there, Watson," he pointed. There's a hatch, just on the side of that dome. If we can get it open, we could get inside."

"It's too far," Watson shook his head. "We won't make it."

"Yes, yes, I know, we might drown before we reach it, and even if we did, there's still the danger of hypothermia. But it's a choice we've got to make: either we stay here and die, or we swim for it."

"And die trying?" The water was now up to their waists, and Watson's teeth were chattering.

"Come here," Holmes said, wrapping an arm around Watson. "We should huddle for warmth."

Watson shook his head. "You're just as c-cold as—" He didn't get a chance to finish before the cabin rolled, sending both of them crashing into the ice-cold water. When they surfaced, only inches of air left, there was something blocking the window, but they could feel the cabin was moving. The water rose above their heads, and they floated, clinging to each other.

Watson surged forward, cupping Holmes' face with his hands, leaning forward until their lips touched. They kissed, swapping the last of the air they had, and when they pulled apart, Holmes mouthed something. Watson frowned, shaking his head, and Holmes opened his mouth to repeat himself, but didn't get a chance to, as the cabin hit something with a clang that reverberated through the water, then rolled to a stop.

Holmes put one of his hands over Watson's mouth, the other over his own, as they treaded water. The cabin shook with impacts as something banged on the outside, strong enough to crack the window. As the water began to drain from the cabin, Holmes pointed up, and together, they surged upward, gasping for air as they surfaced.

"What the hell just happened?" Watson coughed, spluttering.

"I don't know, but it saved our lives, whatever it was, so I'm not inclined to question it too much." The water was draining quickly enough that they could stand rather than treading water.

The banging stopped, and whatever it was that had blocked the window slid away, revealing a room full of machinery outside the cabin. The door they had come through was on the side, and working together, they managed to slide it open, stumbling out into the huge chamber. There was a large reservoir in the middle of it, with large tanks lining the walls. As Watson stepped closer to the edge of the reservoir, he caught sight of something moving down below.

"I think there's something in the water," he said. "Possibly one of the sea monsters from those stories you mentioned?"

"Maybe you should get away from the edge, then," Holmes called out to him from the cabin, where he'd gone in to get their bags. Watson did as Holmes suggested, stepping back to what he felt was a reasonable distance, and eyeing the water suspiciously.

"Here," Holmes tossed Watson's bag at his feet. "If we're lucky, some of it is still dry." When Watson looked at him in confusion, he nodded to Watson's wet clothes. "You should change out of those," he said. "Don't want you getting sick on top of everything else."

"Oh, perish the thought," Watson couldn't help but smile. "Wouldn't want that."

They moved away from the battered lift cabin and the pool with its unidentified inhabitant, laying their bags against one of the huge tanks. As Watson changed out of his wet clothes, Holmes leaned against the tank and watched him, a smile tugging at his lips. Watson looked up from buttoning his shirt to see Holmes' eyes, darkened and shining in the dim light. He cleared his throat, pulling on a jacket, and tapped his knuckles against the tank.

"What do you suppose these are for?"

"Water storage, I suppose," Holmes said. That pool, it's ocean water." He licked the back of his hand. "Salt water. I wager that this machinery," he motioned around the room, "is some sort of water purifying system. The tanks are where they store the fresh water, and then it goes out to wherever it is needed." He pointed to the pipes running from the tanks into the walls.

Watson glanced at the pipes, then back down to Holmes. "Why haven't you changed yet?"

"Can't have both of us undressing at the same time," Holmes shrugged, peeling off his jacket and dropping it to the floor in a sodden heap. "What if someone were to come in, we wouldn't want them catching us off guard."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Watson muttered, busying himself with wringing the water out of their clothes. There was nowhere to dry them, they would have to simply put them into their bags as they were, but he did his best to get as much water out as he could.

"All right, Doctor, what do you suggest we do now?" Holmes asked, fully dressed again.

"You're the one with the map," Watson told him. "Unless... Did the water damage the papers Mycroft sent us?"

Holmes shook his head. "They were well protected," he picked up the leather-wrapped bundle he'd laid down beside his bag. "Everything is fine."

"Well, then, why don't we start by finding whoever's in charge," Watson suggested. "Surely they'll know what's going on."

Holmes unfolded the map and laid it on the floor, peering at it. "I only see this water storage room," he pointed to the map, "and assuming the map isn't outdated on this point, we should be able to find the administration offices here," he pointed again. Tracing a route with his finger, he looked up to Watson. "Looks like we should be able to get there with a fairly direct route," he said. "Although given that we landed on the edge of the compound, and we need to reach the central areas, it will likely be a fairly long trip."

"Who exactly are we going to see?" Watson asked.

"The chief scientist is Nikola Tesla, but Mycroft's notes say he's rather reclusive and hard to get in touch with," Holmes said, folding up the map and wrapping it up in the leather cover. "He's probably locked away in a lab somewhere, I doubt we'll get to speak with him."

"Whoever it is we find, let's just hope they have the answers we're looking for."

#

They made their way out into the plain industrial corridor. Its walls were plain metal, painted a neutral grey color, and broken up on both sides of the corridor by doors, most of them locked. Holmes and Watson checked all the doors, and those that weren't locked led into all sorts of machinery-filled rooms, none of which were useful to them.

The corridor was fastidiously clean and quiet except for the faint sounds of music flowing out of loudspeakers. All in all, Watson had no doubt it would all be quite pleasant, if it wasn't so suspiciously empty.

"I don't like this," he said to Holmes as they left another locked door behind. "It's too quiet. I feel as if I should be expecting something horrible to leap out from around the corner."

"Either that or we'll find everyone has mysteriously disappeared, leaving behind only a cryptic word painted somewhere," Holmes added. "Only I imagine it would not be Croatoan they've left for." He hitched the strap of his bag higher up on his shoulder. "Perhaps someday, someone will write a story about this place. It might make a good story for one of the American writers. A mysterious underwater city, full of things that drive men to madness. Throw in a horrible monster, and you'll have a bestseller on your hands."

They stopped by a door labeled ARBORETUM/MENAGERIE, and Watson tried the handle. It turned, and the door swung open, revealing a lush garden inside. Watson stepped inside, gaping at the greenery.

"This is incredible!" The room wasn't merely greenhouse-sized, it was a vast open space, grass covering the sides of the hollow the room formed, trees lining the tops of the hills along the walls. "Look at this, Holmes, this must be where they grow their food. There are vegetable patches over there," he motioned. "And fruit trees!"

"All of this greenery probably helps with oxygen generation," Holmes said. "That must be the control center," he pointed to a greenhouse-like structure at the bottom of the room.

Holmes had started down the hill while Watson was still looking around, and when he finally looked down, he saw Holmes wading into the grass, high enough to reach his shoulders. As he watched Holmes' progress, he saw several paths being cut through the grass, heading toward Holmes. He ran down the hill, yelling.

"Holmes! Stop! Don't go into the tall grass!"

Holmes disappeared from view, and Watson threw himself forward to get a little more speed. When he reached the grass, he waded in cautiously, following the trail Holmes had left behind. A moment later, he heard a voice, accompanied by several high-pitched yips, and headed in that direction.

He found Holmes kneeling in the grass, playing with three miniature dinosaurs reminiscent of the one they had brought back home from Hyperion, if slightly larger.

"What the..." Watson skidded to a halt, taking in the scene before him. "I thought you'd been..."

"As you can see, I'm perfectly all right," Holmes answered without looking at him. "These fellows just wanted to say hello." One of the dinosaurs climbed onto Holmes' lap, nosing at his jacket pocket. Holmes reached in and pulled out a lint-covered piece of dried meat, which he split between the three dinosaurs. "Do you think the girls would like another one?"

"There's enough chaos at home with Gladstone and Grant, are you sure it's a good idea to add another?"

"I suppose not," Holmes said, looking around. He stared at the glass structure they were close to, and tilted his head. "Hunh," he said.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure yet," Holmes shook his head, pushing the dinosaur off his lap and getting to his feet. Deprived of his attention, the three animals scampered off into the grass. "Come on," Holmes picked up his bag and set off toward the glass house.

When they got closer, Holmes slowed down, walking around the structure first. "Look," he pointed. There were several broken windows, glass lying scattered on the ground underneath them, and the door next to them was hanging off its hinges.

Watson drew his PEW and stepped closer to Holmes, and together they made their way up the short stairs. The room they stepped into was quite clearly a control room, with instrument consoles lining the walls. Picture tubes flickered above a large table in the corner, and Holmes and Watson busied themselves examining the room.

"Watson," Holmes called out from a corner. When Watson crouched down beside him, Holmes pulled back the white lab coat, exposing a dead man, his throat horribly mutilated.

"Oh, the poor fellow," Watson gasped, examining the body. "What happened to you?"

"I suspect our little friends out there may have had something to do with this," Holmes said, pointing to the floor around the body. Indeed, when Watson looked closer, he saw several sets of bloody dinosaur footprints circling the body and then leading to the door.

"Do you think they killed him?"

"I doubt he would have died so peacefully," Holmes shook his head. "There are no signs of struggle, nothing to show that he tried to get away. No, I think he was already dead when they found him." He pushed at the body until it rolled, revealing a bloodied mess where the back of its head should have been.

"I found some blood on the edge of a table back there," Watson waved in the direction of the consoles. "But the question is, did he hit his head over there and stagger over here before he died, or was he dragged?"

"Dragged," Holmes said. "There's dust on the back of his trousers, all the way up his legs."

"Then the question is, who killed him, and why?"

"I think those," Holmes pointed to another set of footprints, these ones definitely human, leading away from the body, "may begin to answer to that question." He got up and followed the footprints across the room to a metal grate set into the wall. When he jiggled it, it swung loose from the wall, revealing a vent that led away from the glass house. Holmes started to climb inside, but Watson grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

"You can't just rush into this, Holmes! We need to try and figure out what's going on."

"I thought that's what I was doing?" Holmes cocked his head at Watson.

"Yes, obviously, but perhaps there's a way that involves less rushing headlong into an unknown situation? Is there a way we can get a look at what's going on elsewhere? If there's a dead body here, and something is _clearly_ going on, given the missing staff at the station, there's probably trouble somewhere in the city. We need to try and get a better idea of what's going on before we go anywhere."

"All right," Holmes nodded when Watson finished speaking. "We'll do it your way." He went back to one of the tables, and sat down, taking out the map and laying it on the table. "We're here," he pointed at the ARBTM/MNGRIE on the map. "The control center is over here," he pointed to another spot. "It looks like there's some sort of transport system connecting all these areas, we can probably ride that to the center of the city."

"Before we do that, we should take that with us," Watson pointed to the wall where a large map of the city hung. "Or update ours, if we can't take that." He walked to the wall and reached for the frame. It was attached to the wall, but he used the butt of his PEW to smash the glass to get at the map inside.

"It looks like they're fairly similar," he said, laying it flat beside the map Mycroft had given them. "There are a couple of areas that must have been added after the map was made," he pointed. "We should just take this map with us," he started folding it up.

"All right, let's get out of here," Holmes said, heading for the door. "We'll go to the transport hub, see where things go from there."

#

"Dear Lord," Watson muttered as they took in the scene in the hub. There were torn banners advertising the festival hanging from the ceiling, and shredded posters for a magic show and a demonstration of new inventions by Nikola Tesla littered the floor. Watson picked up a sheet of paper from under his feet, reading the announcement of the masquerade that was to cap off the festival. "I'd say the party has been canceled."

"Let's not linger, Watson," Holmes said. "I think we've got a long walk ahead of us, since it appears none of the transport are operating." Holmes glanced at the train half-pulled into the station. "I don't think we'll be traveling by train," he said. "It looks like the power's been turned off." He stood at the edge of the platform, and glanced down the length of the tunnel. "According to the map, it's this way," he pointed, then jumped down off the platform. "We'd best start walking."

"How do we know another train won't come along and run us down? " Watson asked, still standing on the platform.

"We don't!" Holmes called out without stopping. "But we have no other way to get where we are going. Come on, Watson, we don't have time for this!"

Watson hopped down off the platform and ran to catch up with Holmes. He hoped that Holmes wasn't leading them into more danger than they could handle.

The tunnel was damp and cavernous, their voices echoing off the dimly lit walls. Watson kept glancing about suspiciously at every noise louder than their voices, half-expecting a train to appear from around the bend. No train appeared, though, and they reached the next station without difficulty, the only inconvenience being slightly soggy shoes.

They climbed onto the platform, as abandoned and eerily quiet as the previous one had been. Holmes led the way to the control facility, just outside of the platform. Watson followed, running his hand over the PEW in his pocket. Holmes turned to face him halfway up the stairs, casting a glance at Watson's pocket.

"You're going to shoot someone by accident if you keep doing that," he said. "There's no one here, Watson; you can relax."

"It's too quiet," Watson muttered, feeling foolish for glancing around nervously. "I don't like it."

"Neither do I," Holmes admitted. "But we're here, we need to carry on with the job."

"I'm starting to develop a real dislike for your brother," Watson glowered, taking his hand out of the pocket.

"What do you mean, _starting_?" Holmes grinned and started up the stairs again, Watson following.

The control center was empty and quiet, and they made sure to check the other rooms on the floor, finding them all empty as well.

"What the hell happened here?" Watson asked, coming back to the main control room. "Where are all the people?"

"Mycroft's notes say that there are almost two hundred people working here," Holmes said, sitting down, motioning Watson to a chair beside his. "They've got to be _somewhere_."

They were sitting before another wall of screens, with neat labels underneath each section. The menagerie, the water treatment plant, the transport hub—all of them were empty and quiet. There were some screens showing only static, and Watson leaned forward to check their labels.

"The medical area has only one screens working, as does this one, here," he pointed to a set of monitors labeled PROMENADE.

They sat for a while, watching the screens. None of them showed any sign of life, and Watson was starting to doze off, the fatigue of the last few hours finally catching up with him, when Holmes shot to his feet, tapping one of the screens.

"There! Do you see that, Watson? Someone's moving about in there!"

Watson stared at the grainy picture on the screen, then shook his head. "You're imagining things, Holmes. There's nothing—" he broke off, watching the blurry dark shape moving around. "I'll be damned."

The picture was too blurry to identify the figure moving around in the medical area, but they stared at the screen intently anyway, until the dark shape filled the entire picture, which then went black, static replacing it after a moment.

"I guess someone down there doesn't want us watching," Watson said, stifling a yawn.

"Are you all right to keep going for a while longer?" Holmes asked. "We could stay here, if you need to rest."

"I'm fine," Watson said. "But maybe we could try the Tannoy first?" He motioned to the microphone on the next table over. "That way, we won't have to try to make it all the way down there."

Holmes shook his head. "We have no idea who's out there, and since we don't know what's happened, or if there are people out there who'd want to kill us, perhaps discretion is the better choice?"

"You're right," Watson said. "Let's see the map, we need to figure out how to get there."

After consulting the map, they set out, returning to the tunnels. They found another train, stalled in the tunnel, and had to pry the doors open so they could get through the length of the train and keep going.

"It's a good thing none of these appear to be running," Watson said when they were on the other side.

"Why's that?"

"Look at the width of it," Watson pointed. "It takes up almost the whole tunnel. If one had come along while we were in the tunnel, there would have been nowhere for us to go."

"At least it would have been a short case," Holmes said, lips quirked in a smile.

Watson shook his head. "Let's just go, before someone decides to reactivate them."

A skittering noise off to the side caught his attention before they started moving, and he had his PEW in hand and fired before he even saw what it was that he was shooting at. Holmes motioned for him to put the weapon away and crouched by the tracks.

"Looks like they're not confined to the menagerie anymore," he said, looking down at the dead miniature dinosaur. "This one is smaller than the others, perhaps a young one?"

A high-pitched shriek echoed through the tunnel, and Holmes looked up to Watson. "I think perhaps we'd better go," he said. "We may have just made mummy angry."

#

The medical area's lobby was almost completely destroyed. Some of the walls were crumbled into rubble, there were sooty scorch marks everywhere, and the lobby was littered with corpses.

"What the..." Watson bent over one of the bodies, examining it. The cause of death was obvious: a scorched hole in the center of the man's chest. He bore other wounds and bruises, and his clothes were stained with blood. "Holmes, what the hell happened here? Who _are_ these people?"

"This one must be related to yours," Holmes said, examining another body. "In fact, I believe they're identical."

"Twins?" Watson got to his feet, moving to examine another body. "Scratch that, triplets?"

Holmes shook his head. "Unless they were quadruplets, something is wrong here," he looked up from yet another body. "They're all identical."

"This one isn't," Watson said, checking another corpse. "But there are three identical ones over there," he motioned. "Maybe they hired identical siblings on purpose?"

"Perhaps," Holmes said. "But I suspect there is something else at play here. Come on, let's keep going, we'll figure it out after we make sure there's no danger here."

They scouted the area—the clinic, the nurses' station, Watson identifying their functions as they went—but found nothing besides some wrecked furniture and PEW scorchmarks.

"There's nothing here," Watson said. "Whoever was moving around in here is gone, Holmes."

"No," Holmes said. "It was deeper in there," he pointed at the hospital doors.

"How do you know?"

"All of the cameras in here have been long-destroyed," Holmes said. "Plus none of the rooms look like what we saw."

"Let's go inside, then," Watson said. He reached into his pocket and drew his PEW. "Just in case," he said at Holmes' questioning glance. "You should do the same."

They went into the hospital, PEWs drawn, moving cautiously room by room. In the fourth room they checked, they found the destroyed camera, still smoking, scorched from what looked like a PEW shot. As they stepped into the hallway, they heard someone moving toward them, screaming at the top of his lungs. He fired a PEW rifle wildly at them, the first two shots going wide and scorching the walls beside them. The third shot hit Holmes' shoulder, the force of the blast enough to send him staggering against the wall.

Watson pulled Holmes down, dragging him back into the room they had come from, firing his PEW over Holmes' head. The shooter ducked out of sight, and Watson focused on Holmes, lying on the floor, his face ashen.

"Holmes, talk to me! Come on, Holmes, it's only a graze." He tried to get Holmes' jacket off him, to get at the wound in his shoulder, but doing it with one hand was awkward, and his attempts jarred Holmes, making him moan in pain. "I'll be right back, Holmes," he said. "I have to go take care of our friend out there."

He left Holmes on the floor, and carefully stepped out into the corridor. The man with the rifle was still out there, half-hidden in a doorway. When Watson stepped into the hallway, he brought up his rifle, and Watson dove for the doorway across the hall, firing as he went. One of his shots hit its mark, and he heard the clatter of the dropped PEW rifle, and the man's shout of pain that accompanied it. Leaning out from his cover, Watson saw the man lying on the floor, not moving. Slowly, he advanced on him, speeding up when he saw the wound in the man's chest. It wasn't as big as the ones he'd seen on the corpses in the lobby, but lethal nevertheless since it was almost square over the heart.

The man was still breathing, and Watson bent over him, ripping at his shirt to get at the wound.

"You don't get off that easily, my friend," he muttered as he worked to resuscitate the man. "I'm not done with you yet, I've got some questions to ask you."

His efforts were in vain, though, and the man died before long. Watson reached over to pull his shirt closed and paused. There was something on the man's chest, a mark branded into his right clavicle. He ran his fingers over it, feeling the raised tissue, shaped like a coarse number 9.

Watson left the body behind and headed back to where he'd left Holmes. He rummaged through cabinets, looking for supplies to dress Holmes' wound. When he had what he needed, he pulled Holmes' jacket off him and tended to his shoulder. Holmes came to, groggy and moaning from the pain.

"Hush," Watson muttered. There was a loud noise and shouting in the hallway, and Watson looked up sharply. "Holmes, you have to be quiet, all right?" He gathered their things and tossed them behind an overturned cabinet. He came back to Holmes and tried to pick him up, but Holmes was only half-conscious and unable to walk by himself, so Watson ended up dragging him behind the cabinet.

Just as they ducked down behind the furniture, Watson clutching both the PEWs, the door was blown off its hinges. Watson held his breath when he heard footsteps, and peered through a gap in the barricade to try and catch at the new arrival. He caught a brief glimpse of a mask and several weapons when Holmes moaned again, loud enough to be overheard. Watson flattened himself against the metal frame of the cabinet, clamping a hand over Holmes' mouth.

"Throw out your weapons and come out slowly," the figure called out, voice muffled by the mask. "No sudden moves."

Watson hefted weighed the PEW in his hand, and glanced down at Holmes, who was staring up at him with glassy eyes. Sighing, he tossed the PEWs over the cabinet, and stood up slowly, holding his hands up.

"I'm afraid my friend's been hurt, he can't join us."

The person whirled around to face him, then put the gun away. Watson watched as Irene's face came into view as she took off her mask.

"John?!"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Watson asked, rushing to her side and sweeping her up in his arms.

"I could ask you the same thing," Irene said when he released her. "Where's Sherlock?"

"He's hurt," Watson said, pointing to where Holmes was lying. "Took a PEW blast to the shoulder, just a graze, really, but it knocked him out. I've dressed the wound, but he needs to rest." He caught himself yawning. "So do I, actually." He went to Holmes, pulling one of Holmes' arms around his neck, dragging him up. "Come on, give me a hand with him."

They walked Sherlock out into the open, and Watson found a chair for him to sit in. Kneeling in front of the chair, he taped his hand lightly against Holmes' cheek to rouse him. Holmes' eyes opened, and he looked around blearily.

"What's happened?"

"You got yourself shot, that's what happened," Watson said, frowning.

"Is that Irene?" Holmes gaped as Irene came around into his field of vision. "What is she doing here?"

"That's what I asked her," Watson said, turning to Irene. "Care to fill us in on what we're missing?"

"If you're here, you must know at least part of it," Irene said. "Mycroft sent you, right?"

"You're the agents he sent in to retrieve Hammond, aren't you?" Holmes asked. He sat up straighter looking around. "Where is Mary?"

"She's working," Irene said.

"Why aren't you with her?" Watson glared.

"Because that's not where I'm needed," Irene told him. "She's doing her job."

"And what exactly is that? Who's responsible for all of this?"

"The man responsible for this is Robert Angier. He used to be a magician of some renown in England, and then he disappeared. As best as we could find out, he had some sort of grudge against Tesla, and when he realized Tesla was here in the city, he got himself hired as an entertainer."

"Are you telling me a _magician_ is responsible for all of this?" Watson gestured around.

"An _insane_ magician, yes," Irene nodded.

"How exactly did that happen?"

"Angier was obsessed with finding the perfect trick," Irene continued. "He'd brought a machine of some sort with him that he could use to duplicate people. After several volunteers died during his magic shows, he used the machine to make copies instead, and used them in his tricks, using them to try and come up with the perfect result. He... he used their corpses in magic shows." She paused, looking faintly nauseous. "City security found out what he was doing, and decided to arrest him. When they moved on him, he killed the security forces and locked the Promenade down. He used his machine to make copies of some of the people friendly to him, to make his own army."

"I think we saw some of them, back in the lobby," Watson said.

"In the middle of all of this, when security was trying to come up with the best way of dealing with Angier, Lord Hammond arrived for his visit, to tour the city and meet with Tesla."

"None of this answers where Mary is."

"She's undercover, with Angier," Irene said, turning away from Holmes and Watson. "She's become his assistant, and she's been passing information to me whenever she can."

"I can't believe you would send her in there to do something this dangerous!" Watson told her.

"It was her idea," Irene said quietly. "I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen. And when we realized how bad things were getting, it was too late to get her out." She paced the room as she talked. "Apparently Tesla is the one who designed the machine for Angier, only it didn't work quite the way it was supposed to. From what Mary's been able to find out, it was supposed to be a transportation machine, not duplication. Every time he uses it, the machine ends up making two people, with no way to find out which one is the original. When Angier demanded that Tesla tell him, Tesla had no answers to give."

"Has Angier duplicated himself, as well?"

"There are rumors, but as far as we could tell, he's never used the machine on himself here in the city. The longer Tesla refused to speak with him, the angrier Angier got. Finally, he tried to drag Tesla out of his lab, which made Tesla fortify himself inside Wardenclyffe and close off all access. Which of course made Angier even more furious, especially given Tesla's special project that he's got locked in a secure lab."

"What's the secret project?"

"Nobody knows, not even Angier. All he knows is that there's something Tesla is keeping very secret, and he wants to get at it."

"What about Lord Hammond?" Holmes asked. "Where is he?"

"Angier has him," Irene said. "He's holding him as leverage against Tesla. He's counting on Tesla eventually giving in to protect his benefactor. In the beginning, Hammond tried to bargain with Angier, promised him funding and resources to get to the bottom of his quandary if only he'll release Hammond. Of course, Angier rejected his offer and locked Hammond up, somewhere deep inside the Promenade. We've been trying to find him ever since, but Angier's been making more clones, which means the city's crawling with madmen armed to the teeth."

"How did they get weapons?"

"Tesla equipped the city with his tech, including weapons. Before security realized what was happening, Angier's men raided the armories and armed themselves." Irene walked to the door and glanced out into the hallway. "Which is why we should move," she said. "It's too dangerous to stay here for too long." She walked back to Holmes, and crouched down in front of him. "Can you walk?"

"I was shot in the shoulder," he said, giving her a disdainful look. "Of course I can walk." To prove his words, he got to his feet and took a step forward, waving away Watson who tried to catch him when he stumbled and almost fell. "I'm _fine_. Let's get a move on."

"So how long have you and Mary been working for my brother?" Holmes asked as they headed toward the Promenade, Irene leading them the long and twisty way around.

"This really isn't the time to discuss this," Irene told him, not looking over her shoulder.

"On the contrary," Watson said, stopping in his tracks and grabbing Holmes' arm to stop him as well. "I think you should tell us everything right now."

Irene stopped, turned toward them, and rolled her eyes. "Fine. I had already done a couple of small jobs for Mycroft before I met Mary. When we left London, we worked as a team, and we took a few missions together. Ever since then, Mycroft has called on us from time to time, when he has some business that he needs taken care of discreetly."

"I wish you'd told us," Watson said.

"If only to make it impossible for Mycroft to gloat when he realized you hadn't."

"I'm sorry," Irene said. "We made it clear to him we weren't going to work for him anymore. But when he called about Lord Hammond being missing..."

"You had to do your duty for Queen and country, and took the job," Holmes finished for her. Before she could answer, he held up a hand to stop her. "As much as I'd love to carry on this conversation, it's probably best that we wait until all four of us are together. That way we can cut down on the amount of shouting." He turned to Watson, then looked to Irene. "What say we postpone the discussion for now?"

When Watson nodded his agreement, Irene started off toward the Promenade again.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, going into Angier's territory?" Watson asked.

"No, but it's the best idea I have. Plus I want to be there if Mary makes contact."

When they finally made it to the Promenade, Irene led them to an unfinished building, its windows boarded up with wooden planks and the door chained closed. She opened the lock with a key she had on a leather cord around her neck and motioned them inside. Homes and Watson took in their surroundings while she locked the door again.

Watson cleared his throat nervously. "Irene, is this..."

"A brothel," Holmes interrupted him. "Really, Irene?"

"Shut up," Irene told him, walking up the winding stairs. "Nobody uses this building, and with the lock in place, hopefully they won't think to check it. We can stay here for the night, at least. The beds are actually quite comfortable."

"I'm sure they are," Holmes smirked. Let's find one big enough for the three of us."

#

In the morning, Irene slid out of bed early, and Holmes woke up with her.

"Where are you going?"

"I still have a job to do," she told him, bending down to kiss him. "I need to keep scouting for where Lord Hammond might be held. Rescuing him is still our first priority, everything else comes after that." She pulled on her trousers and started buttoning up her jacket. "You two, stay here. I'll be back in a couple of hours, we'll figure out what to do next. You're still recovering, get some more sleep, you'll need your strength." Before Holmes could answer, she was gone.

He lay back down, briefly considering waking Watson up, but the sight of the dark circles under Watson's eyes convinced him to let the man sleep. He slid out of bed quietly, getting dressed, and slipped out of the room. He explored the building they were in, but there was only so much entertainment to be gotten from small, cramped, half-finished rooms, and he soon grew bored. Irene had locked the padlock on the front door, but Holmes found a window in the back with a loose board, and climbed out carefully, making sure to pull the board back into place before standing up straight and looking around the area.

The buildings surrounding the small square he stood in were all in unfinished states, some of them barely more than four exterior walls and a roof. Holmes eyed them all, then turned on his heel and walked down the largest of the four streets that led away from the square. It wound through the Promenade, and Holmes strolled leisurely, taking in the sights. When he reached the main clearing of the area, he spotted the large city map beside the entrance to the tunnel. It was similar to the one he and Watson had taken from the control center, but it had several additions drawn on it in red paint. The far-off shapes of Tesla's Wardenclyffe compound were all ringed in red, with a large STAY OUT painted across them. Several of the large tunnels connecting the separate areas of the city were also painted over in red. Holmes stared at the map for a while, then headed for the tunnel leading out of the area. He picked the direction at random and set off after checking the PEW he had in his pocket.

It was an utterly boring tunnel, with nothing to entertain him, and he was about to turn back when he saw a slowly blinking light through a crack in the wall. The space was large enough for him to squeeze through, and he moved forward cautiously, drawing the PEW and holding it at his side. Once through the crack, he'd barely taken five steps when he felt the air around him take on a charge. A deep breath brought him the smell of ozone, and a strange crackling sound filled the tunnel. The next thing he knew, he was surrounded by bright blue light, and an electrical shock was coursing over his skin. Once it passed, he shook out the tingling in his hands and feet, and moved forward again, toward the blinking light.

He'd almost reached it when something hit his head from behind, sending him sprawling to the ground. As he fought to stay conscious, he saw someone standing over him. He struggled to open his eyes, to get a look at his attacker, but the last he saw before the darkness took him, was someone running away from him.

#

When he came to, Irene was kneeling beside him, concern creasing her fact as she looked down on him. When Holmes opened his eyes, Irene rocked back, letting out a sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank God," she said, pushing her loose hair out of her face. Holmes thought she looked rather lovely in the dim light of the tunnel. "What the hell are you doing here, Sherlock? I told you to stay with Watson."

"I got bored," he said, struggling to sit up, shaking off Irene's hands when she moved to help him. "I didn't want to stay in bed all morning."

"I've seen you be more than happy to do just that, Sherlock," Irene chided. "More than once."

"I've usually got someone to occupy me," Holmes told her, rubbing at the back of his head. He winced when his fingers came in contact with the sizable bump there.

"What's the matter, Sherlock? Watson not good enough for you? I'd have thought you'd take advantage of the surroundings, let the décor inspire you."

"He needed the rest," Holmes muttered. "This trip hasn't exactly been a relaxing holiday at the seaside so far, you know."

"Yes, Sherlock, I know," Irene said, getting to her feet and holding her hand out to him. "Come on, we should get back. Watson will be wondering where you are, no doubt."

With Irene leading the way, they reached the brothel a different way, not heading back through the crack in the wall. Irene took the padlock off the door and stepped inside, and Holmes could hear Watson coming down the stairs.

"Irene! Thank God you're all right. We were worried, and Sherlock threatened to go after you, it was all I could do to keep him here—" He froze, halfway down the stairs, staring at Holmes, who was pulling the gate shut behind him. At the sudden silence, Holmes turned around to see Watson staring at him, wide-eyed.

"What's the matter?" Irene asked, looking between them. "John, what's going on?"

"I heard voices, is that Irene?" A voice rang out upstairs, and Holmes and Irene stared in open-mouthed shock as a second Holmes appeared at the top of the stairs.

"What sort of trickery is this?" Watson drew his PEW, aiming it at the Holmes standing by the door. "Who are you?"

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, of course," the man in question answered calmly.

"No," Watson said. "That's Holmes," he pointed vaguely in the direction of the man standing behind him. "I repeat, who the devil are you?" He raised the PEW again, his hand shaking slightly.

"Perhaps we _both_ are," upstairs-Holmes said, coming down the steps.

"There was a machine in the tunnel," downstairs-Holmes said, eyeing his counterpart curiously. "Perhaps Angier moved his machine?"

"No, it's a trick!" Watson said. "He's been here all morning," he motioned to the Holmes now standing beside him. "I don't know who you are, but you are clearly an impostor."

"He can't have been here all morning," downstairs-Holmes said. "I'm the one who left you here. You were sleeping, I wandered off, I'd have known if there was someone else here."

Irene had drawn her PEW as well, aiming it at the Holmes standing beside Watson. "If one of you _is_ an imposter, it'll be easy to prove. Take off your shirts, both of you."

"Irene, is this really the time for that sort of thing?" Upstairs-Holmes grinned, but he was already unbuttoning his shirt, and downstairs-Holmes followed suit. Both men stood there, shirtless, arms stretched out to the sides, as Irene and Watson examined them.

"The shoulder wounds, the scars, they're all identical," Watson said. "There's no way to tell them apart." He glared at downstairs-Holmes. "How did you do this? How did you copy him?"

"It was the machine, Watson," downstairs-Holmes reached for him, and Watson recoiled from his touch, turning back to the other Holmes.

"Did you do anywhere this morning? While I was asleep?"

Before the man could answer, downstairs-Holmes interrupted. "I came from here this morning, leaving you asleep."

"So did I," the other Holmes said.

"I was bored, and you needed the rest, so I wandered off."

"I took the tunnel that looked the longest on the map."

"I walked for a while, and then there was a crack in the wall, and a flashing light, I wanted to check what it was, so I climbed through. Then there was a bright light, and electricity in the air."

"I turned around, and saw someone else in there with me, and I acted instinctively."

"That's when I was hit over the head with something, and I passed out."

"Sorry about that."

"Identical appearance, and identical memories, diverging in the tunnel, after the machine. Somewhere in that tunnel, we went from one Sherlock Holmes to two," downstairs-Holmes said. "That's why the trains aren't running," he said. "Angier must be using the transport system power for his machine."

"The question is, which one of us is the real Holmes, and which is the duplicate?"

"The only one with the answer to that question is Angier. He knows the machine, he can tell us."

"What if he can't? What if he won't?"

"We'll deal with that when it comes up."

"Hang on a minute," Watson spoke up. He'd finally put away his PEW, but he was keeping his distance from both men. "What are you talking about?"

"We need to talk to Angier," downstairs-Holmes said.

"It's the only way to be sure," upstairs-Holmes added.

"I don't think it's going to be that easy," Irene said. "He's a madman. He's not just going to talk to you."

"We'll figure out a way to make him," upstairs-Holmes said. "Can you get us to him?"

"We know where he's living," Irene said. "Mary has drawn me a map, and given me the codes to the doors."

Watson frowned. "From what you've said he's not the kind of man to give information like that to just anyone."

Irene looked away from him. "She's found a way to make him trust her. She's—

Watson scowled and clenched his fists. "I don't want to know," he shook his head.

"That's probably wise," Irene said. "All right, we'll try to get to Angier in the morning. For now, everyone needs to sleep. I suggest you two find a place to bunk down for the night," she told the two Sherlocks, and she and Watson headed upstairs to the bedroom they'd slept in the night before.

"I guess that means we're not invited," upstairs-Holmes said, giving his counterpart a grin.

"I'm sure we can find a way to entertain ourselves," downstairs-Holmes said. "I'm not in the mood to sleep anyway," he said. Irene hadn't locked the padlock on the front door, and he pulled the door open, stepping outside. "Feel free to join me, if you like."

They ended up sitting on the roof, using a ladder in the back of the building to go up. From there, they had a good vantage point of the surrounding area, and they sat together, leaning against a half-finished smokestack.

"I apologize," upstairs-Holmes said. "For knocking you out in the tunnel, that is. I didn't know who you were, and acted instinctively."

The other Holmes stretched out his legs and lay back, staring at the mostly opaque glass ceiling far above them. "Liar," he said softly. "I saw you standing over me, before you ran. You know who I was." He shrugged. "I'd have probably done the same, though."

"All the more reason to get to the bottom of things and figure out which one of us is the real Sherlock Holmes," upstairs-Holmes said, leaning over his counterpart. Suddenly, he was straddling him, pinning the other Holmes down with an arm across his throat. "Give me a reason I shouldn't just kill you now."

"We don't know which one of us is the real Sherlock Holmes."

"I don't care. I'm not going to let you take this life from me," he pressed his arm down a bit harder. "I remember as much of it as you do. Maybe you're the copy."

Downstairs-Holmes gasped for air, and pushed at the other Holmes until the man backed off, letting him breathe. "You just said we both remember the same things, we don't _know_ which one of is the original, and which is the copy. Perhaps there is no "original" and "copy," maybe we're both just Sherlock Holmes." He nudged the other Holmes and the man released him, moving off him. "Imagine, two Holmes minds, working together. It would be incredible."

"They're not going to accept that," upstairs-Holmes said, pointing a finger down to where Irene and Watson were sleeping. "Sooner or later, we'll need to make a choice."

"So what do you propose, that we draw straws for our life?"

"We don't have to decide right away, there's still time."

"Only one of us is going home after this. We can't put the decision off forever."

Upstairs-Holmes leaned over the other Holmes again, grinning down when the other man raised his hands up to try and protect himself. "For the moment, let's just work together to solve the situation we're in. Two of us working on it, should get it done in half the time, right?" He leaned down and kissed the other Holmes, deep and thorough. "Always wondered what it would feel like to do that," he grinned. "May the better man win in the end." With that, he got to his feet and was gone before the other Holmes could react.

Downstairs-Holmes headed down the ladder after a while, but his double was nowhere to be found. Holmes sat on the floor of the porch, which was where Watson found him, staring off into the distance.

"You should come inside," he said. "It's not safe."

Holmes shook his head. "I prefer to stay out here."

"Where's—?" Watson trailed off, looking around.

"He'll be fine, too," Holmes told him. "Don't worry, we'll keep watch. Go back to sleep."

"If you're sure," Watson said. "Just. Be careful." He headed back inside without another word.

Later, Holmes woke up to a firm hand on his shoulder. "If you're going to sleep, you should at least go inside," upstairs-Holmes told him. "Come on, let's lock up and get some sleep."

Inside, they looked in on Irene and Watson, sleeping mostly dressed, curled up together. After they closed the door, upstairs-Holmes led them away from the bedroom. "Clearly, we both love them," he said, and downstairs-Holmes nodded. "We need to work together, to get Mary back, figure out what's happened to Hammond, and get out of here. After that, we'll decide what to do with ourselves." He held out his hand, and downstairs-Holmes took it, clasping it firmly. They shook hands, the agreement made, and then went their separate ways, each to find a bed of his own.

#

"Before we leave, there's something we need to decide on," Irene told them when they'd all assembled in the morning. "We need a way to tell you two apart," she said to the Sherlocks. "And something to call you." She looked them over, frowning, then reached for one of them, pulling his ascot out of his shirt and untying it. She looped it around his upper left arm, knotting it tightly. That done, she moved to the other Holmes, who handed her his ascot wordlessly, and tied it around his right arm.

"Right, then," she looked between them. "You're Sherlock," she pointed to the one with the ascot on his left arm. "And you're Holmes," she pointed to the other one. "I think the five of us can keep that straight?"

"We've some other aliases, if you'd like those," Holmes said. "Altamont, Baker, Hawkes—"

"I've always been fond of Sigerson," Sherlock added.

"I think the simpler, the better, in this situation," Watson said. "To avoid any mix-ups."

"Yes, of course," Sherlock said. "Very efficient."

"If we're all done, then," Irene took the padlock off the door and looked outside. "It's all clear, shall we?"

She led the way, through more transport tunnels, all of them empty of trains. When they reached the amusement park, Irene rushed them into one of the buildings, and they stood in the hall of mirrors, staring at their reflections.

"I think I liked it better when there were just the two of you," Watson said, eyeing the near-infinite reflections of Sherlock and Holmes.

"Just one of them is quite enough, don't you think?" Irene laughed. "I can't imagine having to deal with so many." She looked up sharply when a knock came from the other side of the room. "Stay here," she said, drawing her PEW. "I'll be right back."

When she returned, she was followed by Mary, who ran to Watson, throwing her arms around him. They kissed, then pulled apart enough for their foreheads to touch.

"What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here!"

"You didn't get in touch with Mycroft, and they lost contact with the station, so he sent us in."

"We need to see Angier," Irene said. "Can you get us to him?"

"What could you possibly need to see him for?" Mary pulled away from Watson. "What's happened?"

"Surprise," Sherlock and Holmes came into the open. "We need to talk to him about this."

"You want to find out which one of you is the original," Mary breathed. "Angier's been trying to figure out how it works, repeatedly asking Tesla for help, to no avail."

"He doesn't know how the machine works?" Watson asked.

"Only that it results in two versions of the same person, where there was only one before. H's been duplicating people, trying to figure it out."

"Mary," Watson said sharply. "Has he duplicated you?"

"I don't know," she shook her head. "He's made it a point to keep some of his subjects unaware of the process. For all I know there are several versions of me somewhere in the city." She shivered. "The point is, he has no idea how the process works. Going to see him is pointless. The only one who may possibly be able to help is Tesla."

"We'll go to Tesla, then," Holmes said. "Can we get to him from here?"

"We're in Angier's territory," Irene said. "He keeps all routes in and out guarded, we may not be able to get through. Angier is determined to keep Tesla and his people out."

"He hates Tesla so much, I think he'd even want to see him dead more than he'd want to get his answers," Mary added.

"Then we're getting you out of here, and we're going to find Hammond," Watson said. "We get him to safety, he'll get us to Tesla. It's the only sure way."

"We don't know where Hammond is, though," Mary shook her head. "I've been trying to get it out of him, but he's keeping his location secret." She looked from Watson to Irene to Sherlock and Holmes. "Look, I have an idea. I was waiting to talk to Irene before I went through with it." She spoke quickly, in a hushed voice. "I'll go back to Angier and tell him that I want to help him finish with Tesla, convince him to let me see Hammond. If Hammond can be convinced to help, maybe he knows of a way to get around Tesla's defenses. Hammond doesn't know me, I can appeal to him. If he lets me talk to him, it'll demonstrate that Angier is not unreasonable and that he can change his ways."

"Mary, no, I'm not letting you go back to that madman," Watson protested. "It's too risky! We can try something else, a straight up rescue—"

"It's the best option we have," Irene said, and Watson turned on her, glaring. "Angier is unstable, and if he realizes we're trying to save Hammond, he'll kill him just to stop us from getting to him."

"Look, we don't have any other choice," Mary said. "And anyway, I've got to get back. Angier is putting on a show tonight, and I'm his assistant," she grinned and sketched a curtsey.

"I'm coming with you," Watson said. "At least if I'm in the audience, you won't be completely alone."

Mary shook her head. "No. Angier knows his people, if he spots strangers in the audience, he'll get suspicious." She went to him, pulling him away from the others. "I'll be all right," she told him. She cupped his face in her hands and pulled him down into a kiss. "I promise."

Turning away from Watson, she went to Irene next, embracing her and kissing her tenderly, then turned to Sherlock and Holmes. "I... Keep them safe," she looked to Irene and Watson.

The two men nodded, and moved forward together, pulling Mary into a slightly awkward three-way embrace. "Take care of yourself," Sherlock told her.

"I need to go," Mary said after they'd let her go. "You can't stay here, they've been expanding the searches of the empty buildings. Go back to the brothel, and I'll try to come to you as soon as I can. Please, go back and stay there, all right?"

#

The four of them managed to stay put for approximately twenty-seven minutes, by Watson's watch. Before he'd made the decision to get up, Irene and Sherlock were already on their feet pacing the room. When Watson got up, everyone turned to him expectantly.

"We've going after her," he said, and they all nodded.

Irene led the way, taking them on a roundabout route again, but this time, no one complained about the caution; they all knew what was at stake. The theater where Angier was staging his show was guarded, and Holmes ended up taking out a guard along the way, putting a choke hold on him until the man collapsed, then dragging him to get tied up, gagged, and locked up in a nearby small room. They snuck into the theater, taking one of the boxes lining the walls of the auditorium, staying in the shadows as much as they could.

There were jugglers and acrobats on stage, entertaining the audience until the main attraction of the evening. When Angier arrived, dressed in a tuxedo, holding Mary's hand while he led her up onto the stage, Watson leaned forward, scowling. Irene laid a hand on his arm and pulled him back into the shadows, keeping her hand on him as the performance began.

Angier introduced Mary to the audience, and they proceeded onto the rudimentary tricks in every magician's repertoire. When the audience began to grumble, he grinned and took off his jacket and hat, sending Mary to carry them off the stage with a light slap to her bottom. Watson growled, and Irene's hand tightened, her fingernails digging into the skin of his wrist.

"Calm down, John," she whispered, "She knows what she's doing. If you give us away, you'll give her away, remember that."

It was, of course, the reminded that he would be putting Mary in danger that reached Watson and got him to behave. When Mary returned, he clenched his fists and watched the unfolding spectacle. Angier took center stage, lit up by a solitary spotlight, and began speaking to the audience.

"You've seen me do many things, from the most trivial tricks that most of you could do with only a little bit of training, to dangerous endeavors that I performed only because I've had years of training and practice. Tonight, I wish to show you something special. It's the result of many weeks of preparations, and I hope that you will find it as spectacular as I do." Someone in the audience began to clap wildly, and soon the audience was up on its feel, applauding Angier as he bowed.

When the magician straightened up from his bow, he turned to Mary, reaching a hand out for her.

"The lovely Mary here will assist me in this feat," Angier said, moving to stand behind Mary. He draped a large cloak over her shoulders, sweeping the wings forward so that she was completely enveloped by it. He spun her around, and when she had made a full turn, he reached for the cloak, pulling it off her with a flourish, leaving her dressed only in a revealing corset and a short skirt that just barely covered her thighs and fluttered with every motion.

"Let's face it," Angier said, leaning out to the audience and winking. "The lovely Mary is what you came to see, isn't she?" The men in the audience laughed and hooted appreciatively. In the box, Watson gripped the bannister so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Stay calm," Sherlock leaned forward to speak with his lips against Watson's ear. "She's a professional, she knows what she's doing."

Watson didn't take his eyes off the events on stage, where Angier ran a hand up the length of Mary's leg as he bent down to pick up the cloak he'd dropped.

"Some of you may have already seen me perform this trick," Angier said, pulling a large cloth off a table in the center of the stage. There was an ornamented box sitting on top of it, no larger than two feet on each site, and Angier pointed to the box. "For those of you who haven't, I'm going to place the lovely Mary into the box, and then I'm going to run the box through with several of these swords," he lifted one of the blades off the table, showing it to the audience. "Just in case any of you think it's not a real blade," he lifted the sword above his head and brought it down on a chair standing beside the table. The sword cut through the chair, sending splinters flying, and the audience applauded.

Angier turned to Mary, looking sheepish. "I'm afraid I've just destroyed your stepstool, Mary," he said, and she shook her head, wagging a finger at him. She stepped closer to him, and he lifted her up by the waist, setting her on the table beside the box. "There, now, problem solved." He held out a hand to Mary, and she took it, stepping daintily into the box. Angier kept hold of her hand while she knelt in the box, bowing to the audience from the waist down. Slowly, she folded herself into the box, eventually disappearing from view.

"I've seen this trick in London," Sherlock muttered. "It's quite simple, really. The box has a false bottom, and she's kneeling inside a larger box, mounted into the table. Mirrors around the table give the illusion that there's nothing underneath." Sherlock patted Watson's shoulder. "Don't worry, she's perfectly safe."

They watched as Angier placed a lid on the box, then reached for the swords, plunging them into the box. One of them went through the front of the box, and emerged out the back, the blade stained red. Watson shot to his feet, and it took both Sherlock and Holmes to pull him back down into his seat.

"It's part of the trick," Holmes hissed. "Magicians use a little fake blood to heighten the suspense."

"This man has killed people who volunteered to assist him," Watson said, shaking Holmes' hand off his arm. "How can you say that she's safe?"

"The city is cut off from the outside world," Irene said. "There aren't many women here, he's not going to kill one of the few that's left. Especially not one that he's—" She broke off, and Watson turned to her.

"What, Irene? What is he doing with her?"

"I was going to say especially not one that he's as close to as he is to Mary," Irene said, backing away from Watson. "Trust me, John, he's not doing anything with her against her will."

Watson stared at her for a moment, then turned back to the stage, where Angier was thrusting the last sword into the box. He nodded to someone off-stage, and the lights in the theatre dimmed, with the stage lit by a spotlight on Angier.

"Now, normally, this is where I would remove the swords, open the box, and reveal Mary, perfectly safe and unharmed. However, this," he motioned at the box dramatically, "is a different kind of sword basket trick. There is a twist, and in a few moments, you will see the result, which will be the first in a series of masterpieces I hope to create." He removed the lid of the box, and reached for something in the back of the table; the whole structure rose up, lifted up on a mechanized platform. Angier adjusted something on the table again, and a stream of amber-colored liquid began to pour into the box from above.

Watson was up and out of his chair, lunging for the door, and it took both Sherlock and Holmes to wrestle him to the ground. Irene threw herself at him and clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle his voice, numbly chanting "no, no, no," over and over again.

"Watson, you have to be quiet. Please, Watson," she pleaded, craning her neck to look up over the balustrade at what was happening on stage. The liquid had stopped flowing and Angier was pacing around the table, glancing at his pocket watch every now and then. By the time Watson had calmed down enough that Irene could remove her hand from his mouth, Angier had put away his watch and lowered the table back down to its original position.

He motioned to someone off-stage and two men came out to help him. Together, they dismantled the box and the table it stood on. When they were done, the two men left the stage, leaving Angier alone. He stood with his head bowed, the spotlight a thin column of light around him. Slowly, he raised his hands, and the lights came up at the same time. Finally, he lifted his head, his hands held triumphantly over his head, and a spotlight lit up what was standing in place of the table. An amber-colored solid block stood there, and encased in it was Mary's sword-pierced body. Her eyes were wide open, her mouth a wide 'O' of shock and pain, her hands clenched around the sword piercing her chest.

Irene turned to Watson, reaching for him. "Don't look," she tried to say, but the words died on her lips, and she threw herself at him, pressing her hands over his mouth, pulling his face toward her shoulder. She could feel him shaking against her, the trembling amplified by the screams muffled by her clothes. Holding onto Watson with all her strength, she looked over to the stage.

Angier stood beside his "masterpiece" and the audience stared at him, mostly silent. A few people began to applaud, and soon the entire auditorium was swept up, but Irene could see shock and fear on the faces of the spectators.

Watson pushed her away, and she lost her hold on him. He ran for the door of the theater box, and Irene motioned to Sherlock and Holmes to go after him. They caught up to him in the hallway, tackling him to the floor as he screamed, a wordless gut-wrenching sound that made Irene sick.

"John, you have to be quiet," she told him, kneeling beside him. "Getting ourselves caught won't help bring Angier down. Please, John."

"I don't care!" He shouted, wrestling against the hold the others had on him. "She's dead! Mary is dead and we watched him kill her! We just sat there, pretending like everything was going to be all right, like she was safe!"

The noise in the auditorium was loud enough to mask most of Watson's shouting, but they were more likely to be discovered with every passing moment. She leaned back from Watson and nodded to Holmes, who pulled back his fist and swung at Watson, knocking him out.

"He's going to be very angry we did that," Holmes said, getting to his feet.

"He's going to be insensible with grief," Irene corrected. "But he'll be alive."

"Assuming we can get him, and ourselves, to safety," Sherlock said, slinging John's unconscious form over his shoulder. "Lead the way," he nodded to Irene.

#

There was a half-crumpled note tacked to the banister when they finally made it back to the brothel. As Sherlock and Holmes got Watson settled in the bedroom upstairs, Irene took down the note and read it, the paper slipping from her fingers a moment later. She sat down on the steps, the words of the note dancing in front of her eyes. _I told you to come back here, where are you? If you come back and I'm not here, STAY PUT AND DO NOT MOVE. M._ When Sherlock and Holmes joined her, one of them picked up the note, read it, and then passed it on to the other.

"There is no way for her to have come back here and made it back in the time between us leaving here and the performance at the theater," Sherlock said, sitting beside her on the steps

"Which means either someone else left the note, or what we saw on stage wasn't..."

The three of them stood in silence, looking from one to another. Finally, Irene cleared her throat.

"All right, I'll say it. She's been duplicated."

"It appears you were right," Holmes said. "Angier wouldn't kill her, not without..."

"Not without having a spare," Sherlock said. "It's quite logical, really. He has the ability to make duplicates, why wouldn't he use it?"

"I guess he doesn't care about figuring out how the machine works anymore." Irene slid to the floor, rolling her neck and stretching her back.

"If that's true, if Mary has been duplicated, it's just a matter of finding her and getting her back," Sherlock said, looking to where Watson lay on the floor with his eyes open, staring into the distance. "Otherwise I'm afraid he's going to have a hard time recovering. All of us will, really."

"We'll go after Angier tomorrow. If we can get him alone, I'm sure the three of us—"

"Attention, residents of Free Arcadia," the Tannoy speaker blared to life. "This is Robert Angier speaking, addressing those of you who have chosen to remain with me." There was a squeal of feedback that echoed in the room, making them all wince. "As I'm sure you're aware, our Winter Festival is coming to an end, which means it's time for the Masquerade Ball. Starting tomorrow afternoon, there will be food and drink and dancing for everyone. I expect to see you all there. Costumes are mandatory, as is attendance, so come one, come all, and make sure you have a mask!"

"He's lost his mind," Irene let out a harsh, broken laugh. "The city's at war, and he's throwing a party?"

"This is good," Holmes said. "We can use the costume party as a way of getting to him. If we wear disguises, we'll be able to go about undetected."

"Angier will still have guards around him," Irene pointed out. She wiped a hand over her face, letting her head fall back against the mirror. "Still, it's the best plan we have. Even if it's just three people armed with PEWs."

"Four people," Watson said, coming down the stairs and sitting down between Sherlock and Holmes. "He k—" he broke off, swallowing. "He killed Mary, I want him to pay for that."

Irene looked to Holmes and Sherlock and shook her head. If Watson had not heard their discussion about Mary being duplicated, there was no reason to give him false hope, or upset him further.

"John, revenge won't bring Mary back," she said gently, reaching for his hand.

"I don't care," he said, pulling away. He walked all the way down the stairs, sitting down by one of the boarded up windows, and took out his PEW, disassembling it for cleaning.

"This is not a good thing," Sherlock said as they watched Watson work, his lips pressed tightly together.

"We'll need to keep an eye on him," Irene said.

"Do you think he heard us? About Mary?" Holmes asked, keeping his voice low.

"I don't think it matters," Irene said. "He'd be just as determined to get his revenge either way."

#

They slept late that morning, making up for the mostly sleepless night. When they couldn't sleep anymore, they moved on to checking PEWs, knives, and anything else to be used as a weapon.

"Where is Irene?" Watson asked, his voice still rough, stretching out after sleeping on the hard floor.

"She went out to get some costumes," Holmes told him. "She should be back soon."

They had cleaned all the PEWs, made sure none of the charge packs were overly depleted, and sharpened the knives before Irene returned, arms laden with colorful costumes.

"I certainly hope that's not for any of us," Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow at the sequined red dress on top of the costumes. "Where did you get this from, anyway?" He picked it up, and it was definitely not a proper lady's dress, cut low in the front, with the skirt pinned and folded short.

"Stop it," Irene snapped at him, grabbing the dress out of his hand. "These are for you two," she motioned to the two hooded cloaks and the masks lying on top of them. "You can decide who gets which mask."

Sherlock picked up the two Harlequin masks, one red and silver, the other black and silver, and held them up to Holmes. "What do you think? Red or black?"

"I think red is more my color," Holmes said, taking the mask. He picked up one of the cloaks and shook it out, then put it on. It was voluminous enough to cover up his clothes and still leave him with freedom to move.

Irene handed the plague doctor mask to Watson, along with a hooded cloak and a black hat. "This was the only other thing I could find," she told him. He took it from her without a word and began to get dressed. Irene watched him for a moment, then started to change into her own costume.

Before they left the brothel, Irene pulled Watson aside. "John, as much as I want to see Angier dead for what he did to Mary, we need him alive so he can tell us where Hammond is. Once he's safe, we don't need Angier alive, but not before then."

Watson looked at her for a moment, his face expressionless, then nodded, and slid on his mask. Irene stared after him as he headed out the door.

"Right, then. Glad we got that settled."

#

The main square of the Promenade was filled with people in costumes. Some of them were quite elaborate, layered creations of multicolored fabrics and textures, and others were simple makeshift masks, but everyone's identity was hidden.

Irene turned to the men in the small room with her. "We should split up," she said. "If we all stick together, we stand a greater chance of being spotted. John, you go with Holmes, I'll go with Sherlock. We walk around, get the lay of the land, and we meet back here in an hour. No heroics, nothing to draw attention to ourselves. Got it?" The men nodded, and they split up, going their separate ways.

While making the circuit of the room, Irene and Sherlock had to duck into an open door to get out of sight of an approaching pair of guards. When the guards were gone, Irene looked around the space before heading out.

"What is this place?"

"I think it's an art gallery," Sherlock said, and there was something about his voice that made Irene look up sharply.

He was standing in the center of the room, looking up at a dais. When Irene joined him, she saw the amber-like block containing Mary's sword-pierced body in the center, surrounded by others. As she stared at them, she realized with a start that they were all Mary, from the ballerina caught mid-arabesque, to the swordswoman raising her rapier in a salute, to the magician's assistant with her hands bound above her head and hanging from a hook. Irene turned away from the sight, bile rising in her throat.

"We have to make sure Watson doesn't see these. Ever."

Sherlock nodded. "I'll let Holmes know to keep him away from here."

"Let's get out of here," Irene said. "Before I set the place on fire and give us away too early."

When they met an hour later, there wasn't much to report that they hadn't expected.

"The guards aren't as well concealed as they would like to think they are," Sherlock sneered disdainfully. "They must think very little of the population if they think they won't be noticed."

"Or they've decided that they don't need to hide," Holmes said. "On the other hand, thanks to them being obvious, we know their numbers, and there are a lot of them, spread out all throughout the Promenade."

"And only four of us," Irene said. "It's going to be difficult to get to Angier."

The music stopped then, and murmur swept through the crowd. Irene looked out toward the stage, where Angier was taking the stage. Spotlights lit up the stage, making it the brightest-lit space in the room lit mostly by colorful lanterns. Angier walked up the stairs, a masked woman at his side, and Irene frowned. The woman's mask covered up her face and hair, so it was impossible to tell whether it was a Mary-duplicate or not. When Watson came to stand beside Irene at the window, she stiffened, waiting for his reaction to the woman. His eyes were firmly on Angier, though, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

Angier took his place in the center of the stage, and a hush fell over everything.

"My friends," Angier began, raising his hands and turning to look at all parts of the audience. "I trust you've been enjoying yourselves?" A cheer went up in the crowd, spreading through like a wave. "I know it's been a long struggle, to make your lives here in Arcadia," Angier continued. "Times are hard everywhere, though, and the fact that you can live here, in this limited environment, and succeed speaks to your courage, your strength, and your endurance! We take this time to lift our spirits, and celebrate our continued presence here. Undefeated! Thriving! And more determined than even not to give up!" Another cheer, this one much louder than before, went up, and everyone joined in.

Angier raised his arms and the crowd quieted down. "Now, there are some people here in the city, who want to tell us how to live our lives. That we work for them, and as a result, they can tell us what to do. That those of us who want to change things, to take control of our lives, have no right to do so, and that we should just give up. Well, I'm here to tell you that they are wrong! I'm here to send a message to those who would work against us," he turned to look at everyone, his eyes flickering from the faces in the crowds to the buildings around them. "We. Are. Here. To stay. We will not be moved. And we will never surrender!" He thrust a fist into the air on the last word and the crowd joined him, screaming their agreement at the top of their lungs.

"If I didn't know he was a most likely insane murderer, I'd be impressed," Sherlock muttered, earning himself a dark look from Watson.

At a sign from Angier, the music started up again, and Angier swept the woman beside him into his arms and they danced across the stage. He spun her into the crowd, and stepped off the stage, his guards closing in around him.

"That's going to make it difficult getting to him," Irene muttered. "Still, he's not avoiding contact with people entirely, maybe I can get him to dance with me. Lead him off to the edge of the square where you three can grab him."

"What if we can't get to him?" Watson asked, not taking his eyes off Angier, making his way through the crowd.

"Then we wait for a better opportunity," Irene told him. "He's not going anywhere."

"As far as we know," Holmes added. "For all we know, he's planning to leave the city after the masquerade."

"His ego wouldn’t allow him to leave before the city is his," Sherlock said, his mouth twisting.

"All right," Watson nodded. "We'll try it your way, Irene. Just... be careful, please." His voice shook a bit on the last word. "All of you, be careful. Let's not lose anyone else."

"The same goes for you, John," Irene reminded him, touching his cheek. "Don't be reckless." She leaned in, kissed him gently, and then headed out into the crowd.

She tried several times to get to Angier, pushing her way through the people surrounding him, but each time, she was turned back by the guards around him. He danced several times with the masked woman who accompanied him, and stopped to speak to small groups of people.

Men and women carrying trays laden with food and drink circulated through the crowd. Everyone helped themselves to the offerings, and Irene took a glass when one of them held a tray out to her; it wouldn't do to call attention to herself by refusing, after all. She raised the glass to her lips, and the strange smell of the liquid stopped her just before she tasted it. Keeping the glass raised to her mouth, she looked at the crowd around her. Practically everyone had a glass, some half-full, most empty, and none of them were too steady on their feet anymore. Irene lowered the glass, carrying it by her side, and carefully tipped it to let its contents spill to the floor. After it was mostly emptied, she set it on a passing-by tray, turning her attention to the task at hand.

Unfortunately, her attempts to get close to Angier were foiled at every turn, and she returned to the others. They watched the dance turn from a somewhat restrained, awkward affair, to an alcohol-fueled bacchanal. A couple of revelers burst into the room, and seeing Irene, surrounded by Watson, Sherlock, and Holmes, the man grinned lecherously, tipped his hat and retreated, dragging his drunken, giggling companion with him.

"We should take advantage of the distraction and strike now," Watson said, turning away from the window he'd been watching the crowd through.

"Angier's men aren't distracted," Holmes pointed to where Angier and his female companion sat on one side of the stage, guards positioned in a loose circle around them. "If we tried anything now, they'd see us coming before we got halfway there."

"We can't just sit here!" Watson railed, and Irene pulled him away from the window. "We should be doing something!"

"I agree, but attempting it right now would be suicide," Irene told him. "It turns my stomach to see him out there, but we can't risk being caught."

Watson shook her hand off his shoulder and retreated to the far corner of the room, taking off his mask as he sat down on the floor. Irene watched him for a moment, then turned to the window. As disturbing it was to watch the increasingly depraved goings on in the square, she knew they needed to keep an eye on the situation.

Holmes came to sit beside her, and they watched together for a while.

"Do you think the woman with Angier is Mary?" he asked, keeping his voice low so Watson wouldn't hear him.

"I've been trying to figure it out," Irene said. "I can't tell, though. And I've been trying not to draw his attention to her. I don't want to raise his hopes, and more than that, I don't want him to realize that Angier's been killing Mary repeatedly for his magic shows."

"If the masquerade proceeds as others do, it will end with an unmasking," Holmes said. "If she unmasks, and does turn out to be Mary, John's instinct will be to go after her."

"I know," Irene nodded.

"We'll have to watch him."

"I know," she nodded again."

"Just so we're all prepared," Holmes said.

Eventually, the music stopped and Angier walked to the center of the stage, the masked woman accompanying him. Some of the partygoers were otherwise preoccupied, but most of them focused their attention on him. Angier raised his arms, and the crowd's murmurs hushed.

"Friends, I can see you're all enjoying yourselves." Laughter ran through the crowd and Angier grinned. "I'm glad you are, because tonight marks a new beginning for us, the beginning of the fight for our survival, our freedom, and our independence!"

The crowd cheered, and Watson and Sherlock came to stand by the window with Irene and Holmes.

"He's planning a war," Irene said quietly.

"And he's got them riled up enough that they'll die for him without question," Watson added.

"Now, I know we all know each other here," Angier continued. "Some of you know each other a little better than others," he added, raising an eyebrow. He grinned at the crowd's laughter. "But it wouldn't be a proper masquerade without an unmasking. So, on the count of three..." He moved to stand behind the woman with him. "One... Two... Three!" He removed the woman's mask, revealing Mary's face.

"Mary!" Watson shouted, pulling away from the window. Sherlock clamped his hand on Watson's arm, and Watson tried to pull out of his grip. "Let me go!"

"John," Irene tried to get him to focus on her, but his eyes kept drifting to Mary, standing on the stage, laughing along with Angier and the rest of the crowd. "John, she's been duplicated, we don't know which one that is, and which one died yesterday."

"I don't care!" Watson shook his head. "I don't care, it's _Mary_."

"We need to figure out how many of her there are. They could be loyal to him, we don't know what he's done to them!" Holmes joined Sherlock in holding on to Watson's arms.

"I don't _care_ ," John said again. "There are two of you, and you're practically identical. It doesn't matter if she's been duplicated, she's still _Mary_. Nothing he does to her could change that!"

"John, you are _not_ going out there," Irene told him. "God knows I want to go to her as much as you do, but if we do that, we'll only end up locked up, or dead, and we won't accomplish anything." She reached up to cup his face. "When we got back to the brothel yesterday, we found a note. One of the Marys must have left it, we should probably go back there in case she comes back."

Watson stopped struggling. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You weren't exactly in a responsive state," Holmes told him. "We needed to make sure that it wasn't a trick, that Angier hadn't found us all out, and had someone leave the note to lead us into a trap."

"Well, now we know it wasn't," John insisted. "We could still go after them, follow them after they leave."

"He's planning a _war_ , John," Irene said. "We won't even get close before we're caught."

"What do you suggest, then? We just sit here and do nothing?"

"We go back, and we wait for Mary," Irene said. "We should have stayed put like she'd asked us to in the first place."

Watson slumped against Sherlock, who was still holding onto him, and nodded. "All right."

#

When they'd gotten back to the brothel, Mary wasn't there, and neither was anything else to indicate she might have been there before their arrival. Frustrated and exhausted, they'd fallen into whatever beds were available after stripping off their costumes. Sleep came quickly, and was broken far too soon by heavy rumbling sounds that shook the building.

"What's happening?" Watson asked as they all got up, getting dressed quickly.

"Remind me," Sherlock said, looking out through a gap in the boards covering up the window. "Was there a lake outside before we went to sleep?"

They stared at the water filling the narrow streets between the buildings, then sprang into motion.

"We need to go, now!" Irene said, watching Sherlock and Holmes grabbing their bags.

"Where do we go?" Watson asked as they ran down the steps toward the door. They had to wade through ankle-deep water to get outside, and the water level was rising by the minute.

"The transport tunnels would be the fastest way to get out," Irene pointed the way. "If they're still passable, of course."

They weren't. Bulkheads blocked the tunnels, and the sound of water rushing through the tunnels was clearly audible even through the heavy doors.

"Looks like we're going back out there," Holmes nodded toward the exit. "And none too soon," he added. The water in the transport station was already thigh-deep. "The question is, again, where do we go?"

Irene stood on the steps, teeth chattering. She could see the men shivering, their skin turning pale, and had no doubt she looked the same. "All right," she said. "Back the way we came, and then to Angier's. He'll have made sure his people are safe before he started off the attacks."

"I'm not sure this is his doing," Holmes said as they followed her up the stairs. "Why would he flood this area, so close to where his people are?"

They'd reached the glass-covered tunnel they'd used to get to the main part of the Promenade, and waded through the water that was flowing in. There was a crack in the tunnel, water seeping in, increasing the rate at which the tunnel was filling, and they did their best to pick up speed. Just as they rounded the corner, the bulkhead door in front of them slammed open, blocking their way. Irene pounded her fists against it, screaming in frustration, doing her best to ignore the cold and the tendrils of fear worming their way into her heart.

Something shook the tunnel, sending the water sloshing against the sides, soaking them all to the bone. As they picked themselves up, they looked around to see what had caused the tremor. Watson pointed above them with a shout.

"There! Something in the water!"

They watched the black shape, circling above them, descend through the water and resolve into an enormous multi-tentacled shape, heading straight for them. They tried running for cover, but the closer the thing got, the clearer it became that its reach was longer than they could run in the time it would take to reach them. They huddled together, and watched the giant squid spread its tentacles around the tunnel, bringing one of them down onto the thick glass. The crack in the tunnel widened a bit, water flowing in just a little faster. The third time, the squid repeated the motion, the crack extending almost halfway around the tunnel, Sherlock gasped.

"It's not real," he said, and when the others gaped at him, he shook his head. "I mean it's not a real squid. It's a machine, man-made. Look." He pointed to it, and as it swam past them, they could see the rivets holding the metal plates that made up the thing's body.

"Tesla?" Holmes asked.

"I suppose it's possible. Unless Angier has managed to take control of it away from Tesla."

"Does it really matter who's controlling it?" Irene snapped. "I think it's more important that it's trying to kill us." She turned to John, whose face was turned toward the wall. "I'm sorry we didn't get to her, John," she said. "I'm so sorry."

"You should probably save your goodbyes and apologies for when they're actually necessary," Watson said, turning back to her with a grin. "I don't think it's trying to kill us." He pointed to the squid, floating above the tunnel. "Look up there, near the main body. See? The lights up there."

"It's a machine, John. Machines have lights."

"No, no," he shook his head. "There's something attached there, it looks like an elevator cabin. I think it's a rescue pod."

"Rescue?" Irene laughed. "Are you insane? Look at that thing! It's smashing the tunnel around us, trying to kill us!"

"No," Sherlock shook his head. "Watson's right. If it wanted to kill us, it could have crushed the tunnel, or punctured it, or probably ripped it out of its frame. It's cracking the tunnel slowly, so the water doesn't flood in too quickly and kill us."

The squid's tentacle came down again, and this time the crack widened, sending the water flowing in quickly enough that they had to start treading water.

"We don't have a lot of time," Watson said. "At this rate, we'll run out of air in a few minutes. I say we swim out there and try for the pod."

"And if it doesn't work? We'll die out there." The water sloshed over Irene's head, and she spluttered, spitting salt water out.

"We'll die in here if we don't do anything," Watson pointed out. He pushed off from the wall they were huddled against and swam toward the crack in the tunnel. As he approached it, the squid swam closer, hovering just outside. "See? I think it knows what we're doing."

"I don't know what's more frightening, the thought of drowning, or the idea that that thing knows what we're doing," Irene said. Watson was right, though. Either they took a chance and swam for the pod, or they stayed in the tunnel and drowned in a few minutes' time. She pushed off from the wall and swam after Watson, who was pushing through the crack in the tunnel wall.

They swam outside, the icy water sending a chill through their bones that made it hard to move. The squid hovered nearby, and as soon as they were all outside, moved even closer, bringing the pod within easy reach. Watson reached it first, climbing inside, and he reached out to Irene, whose strength was flagging. She forced herself to swim harder, and when their fingers touched, John pulled her into the pod. When Sherlock and Holmes had joined them, the doors of the pod closed immediately, plunging them into darkness. Irene squeezed John's fingers and reached for the others, wanting to be as close to them as she could before death.

A loud whirring sound filled the cabin, and then they felt the brush of cool air on their skin. Gasping for air, they reached for each other, clinging as they waited to see what would happen next. The lights came on as the water was about half-way drained, and they could tell from the sloshing movement of the water that the pod was moving.

"Where do you think it's taking us?"

"I don't think it's taking us to Angier," Irene said, determined to stay positive. "He would have had that thing kill us rather than save us."

"Unless he plans to make an example of us. I can think of a few things he could do to us," Holmes said, and Irene shuddered, thinking of what Angier had done to Mary during the magic show.

"At this point, it's pointless to speculate," Sherlock said. The water was now gone and he slid down to sit on the floor. "I just hope that wherever it's taking us," he wrapped his arms around him, his teeth chattering as he spoke, "it gets us there before we die of hypothermia."

#

For Watson, Sherlock, and Holmes, the pod's landing was much smoother this time; it didn't land with a clang, it didn't roll. Inside, they could hear that the pod was set down on a solid surface, and braced themselves for whatever might come next. When the doors opened, Watson took the lead, stepping out slowly and looking around. The room looked somewhat similar to the one he and Holmes, back when there was only one, landed in at the beginning of their stay in Arcadia. He got three steps out of the pod before stopping in his tracks, and raising his hands in surrender.

"Hello," he offered a cautious smile to the six men he could see, armed with PEW rifles pointed at him and his companions. "Thank you for saving us?"

"The rest of you, come out of the pod," one of the armed men called out, and Irene came to stand beside Watson, Sherlock and Holmes bringing up the rear. When the four of them were standing together, one of the armed men took a few steps forward. "Is that everyone?"

"Yes," Watson answered. "Just the four of us."

The man motioned a couple of others forward, and they checked the pod, inside and out. At their nod, the man who had spoken shouldered his weapon, and the others followed suit.

"My apologies for the brusque welcome, Doctor Watson, but we had to be sure you had no stowaways." He came forward and held out his hand. "I'm Jack Ryan, captain of security for Mister Tesla. If you'll all come with me, we'll get you some dry clothes, and then Mister Tesla would like to speak with you."

"That sounds like an excellent plan," Watson nodded, and the four of them followed Captain Ryan out of the room. He led them through a maze of corridors, finally arriving at a door that swung open at his touch.

"We've laid out some clothes for you in there," he said, stepping aside. "They're probably not the height of fashion, but they're dry."

"Thank you," Irene told him, stepping into the room. "We'll be out as soon as we can."

They stripped off their clothes as quickly as they could, helping each other with buttons and other fastenings cold-numbed fingers kept slipping off.

"We need to get that shoulder seen to before you get dressed again," Watson told him. "Leave you shirts off, the two of you, I'll check the dressings."

"This could be a lot of fun, under different circumstances," Holmes muttered, peeling his wet shirt off.

"Behave, you two," Irene chided them. She picked up her sodden clothes and wrung the water out onto the floor, hanging the clothes over the bed railing. "Hurry up and finish, John. We don't want to keep Tesla waiting."

"No, we don't," Watson muttered. "I've got some questions I'd like to ask him."

"I'm sure we all do," Irene said, picking up a blanket and wrapping it around herself.

When Watson was done fixing the dressings on Sherlock and Holmes' shoulders, they stepped out into the hall with Captain Ryan. He led the way to another room, this one more spacious and luxuriously appointed, where he motioned them to take their seats.

"Mister Tesla will be with you shortly. I'll have someone bring in some hot tea and food for you."

"Thank you, Captain," Irene said. "Hot tea will be most welcome."

They had almost finished with their tea and sandwiches when the door swung open and a tall man, dressed in an impeccably cut suit, stepped into the room.

"Doctor Watson, Miss Adler, Mister Holmes," he pronounced their names carefully, speaking in a clipped, foreign accent, giving each of them a nod. "And Mister Holmes, I suppose," he added an extra nod for Sherlock. "I apologize for the unorthodox and unannounced retrieval," he said, coming to sit at the table they were taking their tea at. "But we needed to move up the timetable, and there was no way to get to you first."

"Then it was you who flooded the Promenade?" Irene asked.

Tesla nodded. "Angier makes a big show of destroying the cameras placed around his part of Arcadia, but there are other ways of watching him," he said. "We've got eyes on every part of the city, and we're paying particular attention to Mister Angier's doings." He cleared his throat. "His speech last night, well, it made it clear that we needed to move fast, before he had a chance to move against us."

"I'm not sure your backers would approve of what you've done," Irene told him. "Destroying their property and flooding parts of the city, how many people have you killed?"

"Surprisingly few," Tesla told her blithely. "Robert Angier may be mad as a hatter, but he is not without considerable intelligence. He'll have made sure his people got to safety. He knows that without them, he's just a second-rate magician."

"A second-rate magician with a way of building an army, equipped with _your_ weapons," Sherlock pointed out.

"Yes, this is why we needed to move against him now," Tesla nodded. "Before he could position them to his advantage. For now, he's cut off, and any remaining paths between the Promenade and other areas of the city are closely monitored."

"What about Lord Hammond?" Watson asked. "Do you know where he is?"

"I know _exactly_ where he is," Tesla said, his moustache twitching as he smiled. "Alas, I do not have the people to send in for a rescue mission."

"Seems like the guards who met us in the reservoir would be quite capable," Irene said.

"Oh, Captain Ryan would be, no doubt of that. His men, however," Tesla shook his head. "They're good at making a show of force, but they are just scientists, they don't have the skills to carry out the kind of operation that would be needed." He grinned. "I have built machines capable of doing the job, but if I sent them in full force, Angier would probably kill Hammond before they got to him."

"Well, we're here now," Holmes said. "Just show us which way to go and give us weapons and supplies, and we'll go get him."

Tesla eyed them dubiously, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, it's just... with the two Mister Holmeses, and the trauma of seeing your partner die," he nodded to Irene. "I'm not sure that you are the best choice for this job."

"Mister Tesla, we're the _only_ choice," Watson told him. "The speech we heard Angier give tonight... he's not going to be content to remain just squatting in the city with his people."

"You're right," Tesla said. "It's why we had to move ahead with the plan before we were quite ready. Angier and his people broke into one of our restricted medical areas, an experimental lab where some early versions of some testing compounds were stored."

"What do they do, these compounds?" Watson asked.

"They... alter the human body, rewrite its genetic makeup. Initially, Dr. Tenenbaum intended them for more mundane effects, like faster healing and alleviation of the effects of prolonged stays in extreme environments. And then she discovered that they had some side effects, causing changes in the body, giving it abilities. At first, it was mostly theoretical, something that could possibly happen sometime in the future. We never thought it would happen so quickly."

"I'm familiar with some of the theories of genetic manipulation," Watson said. "I had no idea there was active research going on, though."

"It wasn't on the maps of city or the notes Mycroft gave us, either," Holmes grumbled. "Someone had to know, in order to procure funding, but it wasn't general knowledge among people who knew about the project."

"You think Mycroft wasn't told?" Watson asked.

"On the contrary," Sherlock said, cutting Holmes off. "I think Mycroft knows exactly what's down here—"

"He just chose not to tell us," Holmes finished.

"It was decided that the world was not ready for such developments," Tesla said. "That's why the project was so strictly classified."

"I take it Dr. Tenenbaum's research took on a more active form here in the city?" Holmes asked.

"Yes," Tesla nodded. "The results of the tests themselves were promising, but the test subjects didn't handle the changes well. To be able to use their new abilities continuously, they required regular applications of the serums, but the more serum they were given, the worse the side-effects became. Several of them killed themselves, the rest ended up going insane, and had to be locked up, for their safety and the safety of the city. The project was abandoned, and Dr. Tenenbaum left the city. Unfortunately, the entire stock of the serum was left behind, rather than being destroyed. Someone talked, and the wrong people found out about the serums."

"Angier wants the serums for his people," Irene said. "As if the situation wasn't bad enough already."

"I assume you've posted guards around the lab where the serums are stored?" Holmes asked.

"As many as I could spare, yes," Tesla nodded. "I don't have a lot of men, though. It may not be enough."

"Tell me, Mister Tesla," Sherlock sat back in his chair, staring at the scientist intently. "You built the machine for Angier. How does it work?"

"To be honest, I don't quite know myself," Tesla said. "It had been intended to transport Angier in his magic performances, and instead, it duplicated him. One of those felicitous coincidences that happened as a result of something else," he said with a shrug.

"Well, which one of us is the original?" Holmes asked. "Surely you can at least tell us that."

"Alas, I do not know. This is one of the questions Angier had asked me, before either one of us had come to Arcadia. I could not tell him back then, and I cannot tell you now."

Sherlock and Holmes shared a look, then Sherlock shook his head. "Well," he said, rubbing his hands together, "we'll worry about that later. For now, we need to figure out what to do about Angier. We can't let him gain control of the city, there's far too much dangerous technology here. if he gets his hands on it, there's no telling what he would do."

"May I suggest postponing that discussion till the morning?" Tesla interjected. "You are all tired, after the trauma of the rescue. Get some rest, and we will tackle the problem with fresh minds in the morning."

As their host got to their feet and prepared to leave, they had no choice but to agree with his suggestions. Tesla walked them to the door and summoned someone to show them back to their room (which turned out to be a suite of three rooms, their clothes and bags moved from the small room they had changed in before). The young man who escorted them promised to come back for them in the morning, told them how to call him if they needed anything, and bid them goodnight before leaving them.

Their belongings hung out to dry, the four of them sat in the sitting room, talking late into the night.

"As much as I hate to admit it," Irene said at one point, "I think we need to face the fact that our priorities have changed. Getting Lord Hammond out safely may not be possible anymore. The safety of the city is more important."

"I agree," Holmes said. "We'll do our best to make sure Hammond is safe, but the greater good must prevail here. If Angier takes control of the city, there's no telling what he'll do."

"Whatever else happens," Watson said, his hands clenching into fists, "Angier is mine. Nobody else touches him."

"John," Irene turned to him. "Mary _is_ alive."

"I know," Watson nodded. "I don't care."

"Is this because you know she's been copied? You don't think it'll be the real Mary?"

"Not at all," Watson shook his head. "Look at Sherlock, they're both the same, they're both _Sherlock_ , so I've no doubt that Mary is still Mary. Angier has to pay, though, for what he's done to everyone, to the city, to Sherlock, and to Mary."

Irene watched him for a while, his lips pressed together in a determined line. There would be no convincing him to abandon his plan, and she only hoped that he would not end up regretting his decision. In the end, they drifted off to sleep, curled up together on one of the beds in the room.

#

"Couldn't sleep either, hunh?" Holmes' question wasn't a surprise to Sherlock, even in the darkened room.

"Hard to sleep with all these thoughts in my head," he shrugged.

"Let's face it, sleep is far too boring for the likes of us," Holmes said. "What do you say we entertain ourselves on our own?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"What do you say we get a better idea of the lay of the land? Seems like there are a lot of locked doors around here."

"Keeping in mind what happened the last time Sherlock Holmes couldn't sleep and decided to explore..." Sherlock grinned. "Holmes, my dear, that sounds like an capital idea. Let's get started, we haven't got all night."

They'd checked four of the corridors in the vicinity of their rooms. They tried all the doors, picking locks where they could, but found nothing that would hold their interest.

"Well, this is no fun," Holmes said, giving the last door he'd tried a kick. "What do you say, shall we give up and go back to the rooms, or keep on exploring?"

Sherlock was about to answer when they heard footsteps coming down the corridor, and ducked into an open door.

"One of Angier's men?" Holmes asked, watching the man wearing a Roman centurion's costume walking by. "Can't have him sneaking around and spying."

"Let's follow him, we'll find out what he's up to."

Quietly, they followed the centurion through the maze of corridors, until he reached a large door at the end of a hallway. He pressed a combination of keys on the panel next to the door, and it started to swing open. While the centurion was focused on the panel, Sherlock and Holmes moved forward, ducking into doorways to stay out of sight. When the door was fully open, they could see an almost completely dark room beyond it, with a giant box-like structure taking up most of the room. It was a good ten feet tall, if not more, with a strange circular design carved into its sides. An eerie green light shone out of the design, casting the centurion and the bare walls of the room into half-shadows.

Holmes' hand slipped off the pipe he'd been resting on, and he fell forward, landing with a thud, in full view of the door. The centurion whirled toward him, his hand going to his belt and drawing his sword. Sherlock stepped into the corridor to help Holmes to his feet, and the three of them stood there, staring at each other. The centurion didn't move, merely watched them with an emotionless expression.

Eventually, the centurion stepped toward the door and Sherlock and Holmes tensed, but the centurion looked away from them and reached for something on the inside wall of the room. When the door started to swing shut, he returned his sword to its scabbard and turned toward the box, Sherlock and Holmes forgotten.

"I think we'll have to talk to Mister Tesla about that in the morning," Holmes said when they were making their way back. "All these secrets, that can't be good for anyone."

"Anyone else but us would say that we should go back to our rooms after that," Sherlock said, stopping in the corridor. I say we keep exploring." He looked to Holmes for a response, and when the other man nodded, he grinned. "Excellent." He pointed down a corridor. "We haven't been down this one yet, what do you say?"

"It's a pity there's no map," Holmes said. "It would eliminate the need for all this pointless wandering; we could just get right to business." He turned a doorknob and it turned to reveal an empty room.

"Come now, where's your sense of adventure?" Sherlock tutted while he picked the lock on another door. "You never know, the next room we find could turn out to hold something interes—" The door swung open, and he trailed off when he saw what was inside. He stared for a moment, then followed Holmes, who had already stepped inside.

"You're very right, Sherlock. This is definitely interesting."

#

When Sherlock and Holmes came into the sitting room, Irene and Watson were almost finished with their breakfast.

"It's not like you to sleep so late," Irene said, setting down her coffee cup. "You must have been up late." She and Watson both looked at Sherlock and Holmes, questions written plain on their faces.

"Sleep is boring," Holmes said, shrugging. "There was a lot to talk about." He shared a look with Sherlock, then they both came to sit at the table and helped themselves to breakfast. "So what's the plan for today?"

"They're going to take us to Tesla in a while, we'll go over the situation, and then we'll make a plan."

"Shouldn't we have a plan of our own?" Sherlock asked. "In case things don't go well with Tesla?"

"Why wouldn't they go well?" Watson asked. "Do you know something we don't?"

Holmes shook his head. "No, of course not. I'm merely speculating. Tesla doesn't appear to be particularly stable himself, though, so I thought we should have a contingency plan."

"Let's try and keep ourselves from expecting the worst," Irene said. "Captain Ryan should be here soon, finish up your breakfast."

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door, and Captain Ryan came into the room. "Good morning," he said. "Mister Tesla is waiting for us in the control center. If you'd all follow me, please?"

He led them to the central building of Tesla's Wardenclyffe complex, and into a room filled with monitors, control panels, and other instrumentation of unknown purpose. Tesla stood in the center of the room, his impeccable clothes and hair from the previous day mussed and rumpled.

"Mister Tesla," Watson greeted him, coming to stand beside him. "You look as if you haven't slept," he said.

"I haven't," Tesla told him, not looking away from the screens in front of him. "Overnight, Angier's people have taken quite a bit of the city. He's had the duplication machine running overtime, making new copies of his people."

"He's got a virtually inexhaustible army," Irene said. "I'm beginning to wonder about the wisdom of planning an attack on him."

"We don't have a choice," Tesla said. "If we do nothing, he'll take the city by sheer force of numbers. If you are willing to help, I suggest a multi-pronged attack. Miss Adler, you and your companions will go in and try to get to Lord Hammond, and I will have my mechanical squid damage parts of Angier's territory, cutting him off from other parts of the city. I will also see about turning some of the city's defenses on Angier's people, try to cut down their numbers.

Neither Watson nor Irene looked thrilled with the idea of slaughtering Angier's people, but before they could voice their objections, Sherlock held up a hand.

"We're missing a crucial element in our plan," he said. "We need to destroy the machine. Cut off Angier's ability to make new soldiers, and we curb his ability to take over the city."

Holmes nodded, and moved to stand beside Sherlock, facing the others. "Watson, you and Irene should go after Hammond. The two of us will go after the machine."

Watson frowned. "I don't like the idea of splitting up," he said.

"Neither do I," Irene said. "But it's a logical plan, and it means we'd do damage in as many spots as we could."

"I will provide you with weapons and armor, as well as maps and other supplies," Tesla told them. "And I'll be watching from here, keeping an eye on you. We'll keep track of your progress, and coordinate the other attacks accordingly."

Half an hour later, the four of them stood at the fork in the tunnel. To the left was the path to where Angier had hidden away Lord Hammond, and to the right was the way to the next tunnel, which would take them to Angier's machine.

Holmes stood beside Watson, and reached for his hand.

"Do be careful, Watson," he told him. "Irene will need someone to make sure she doesn't do anything reckless. Don't tell her this, but I am actually quite fond of her, and wouldn't want anything to happen to her."

"Mum's the word," Watson gave him a smile, lacing their fingers together. "You two, take care of yourselves as well. You're twice the trouble you were before, but between the two of you, you've got half the common sense you should."

Holmes leaned in closer. "We'll try our best," he said. He closed the distance between them, kissing Watson, gently at first, then growing more heated. When they finally broke for air, Holmes ran a thumb over Watson's lips. "If anything should happen, I hope the three of you will carry on without—"

Watson pressed his fingers over Holmes' mouth. "I don't want to hear it."

They watched Sherlock and Irene embrace, the kiss as passionate as theirs had been. Sherlock said something to her, whispering it in her ear, and Irene pulled back glaring at him.

"Did you two plan this?" She asked, raising her voice so Holmes could hear her, too. "The heroic speech, where you tell us to take care of each other, before you go off into battle, possibly to a heroic death?"

"We'd planned on avoiding the death part, actually," Holmes said. "But we are not without feelings, especially when the two of you and Mary are concerned, and we wanted to tell you that."

"I think a better way of telling us would be to come back unharmed after you've done what you're supposed to do," Watson said. "Head back to Wardenclyffe when you're done, and we'll meet you there. Let's leave the sentimental goodbyes for better times." He squeezed Holmes' hand one more time then let go, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "We should go," he said to Irene.

She nodded. "Stay out of trouble, you two," she said, then picked up her own bag. "We'll see you back at Wardenclyffe.

#

Irene led the way down the tunnel, and Watson followed her, his PEW held loosely at his side. They were in Angier's territory, and he didn't want to risk being caught off-guard. The map Tesla had given them was very detailed and accurate, and they made it almost all the way through the winding corridors without running into any guards.

"Tesla's surveillance says Hammond is somewhere in this area," Irene tapped the map. "I don't think it's likely that he'll be unguarded, so we should be prepared."

Watson held up his PEW, and tugged at the strap of the PEW rifle on his back. "I'm ready as I'll ever be," he said.

Irene drew her weapon and they burst through the doors, Irene taking out two of the guards, Watson getting another across the room. Irene's shouted warning came too late, and Watson went down, tackled by someone from behind. They wrestled, rolling across the floor, until Watson gained the advantage and pinned his attacker down. He punched the man several times, then wound up, and hit him with the butt of his gun. Staggering to his feet, he started to walk away, when the man came to, and grabbed his ankle, sending Watson sprawling on the floor again.

As Irene watched, the two men wrestled again, neither one gaining an upper hand for long. When she heard a PEW shot ring out between them, she cried out, and ran toward them. She stopped in her tracks, lifting her PEW and advancing cautiously, unsure of who, if anyone, had been shot.

Watson was pinned underneath the guard, neither one of them moving. When Irene got close enough to nudge them with her foot, Watson groaned, and started to push at the man. Irene dragged him off Watson, and knelt down to check him.

"Are you all right?"

Watson nodded. "I'm fine. Just a little shaken up." He got to his feet, and Irene joined him. For a moment, they stared down at the dead man lying sprawled on the floor, then Watson shook his head. "Judging by the reception, I'd say we're on the right track."

"Come on, let's get going," Irene said, heading for the heavy door at the end of the short corridor.

It was locked, and they had to search all the dead guards, until Watson came up with a key from the guard who'd tackled him. When they unlocked the door, they found a small room with a cot shoved up against the wall, and the body of Lord John Hammond lying on the cot.

"I guess Angier's decided he's not going to try and bargain with Tesla," Irene said. "He's just going for a frontal assault."

Watson knelt by the cot and examined the body. "I can't tell for certain, but rigor mortis hasn't reached its full state," he said. "I'd say he's been dead less than twelve hours, probably more like five or six."

"He died last night or this morning, then," Irene said. "If only we'd been a bit faster getting here..."

"Don't do that," Watson shook his head, getting to his feet. "This isn't our fault. All responsibility for this rests on Angier's shoulders."

"I'm not sure Lord Hammond's family will be comforted by that," Irene said.

"Come on," Watson wrapped an arm around her shoulder, turning her away from Hammond's body. "We can't bring Lord Hammond home alive, but we can make sure we bring his killer to justice."

They started on the way back to Wardenclyffe, but as they rounded the corner, they came to face with a group of Angier's men, some of them still wearing tattered costumes from the masquerade, and all of them heavily armed. Ducking back behind the corner, they drew their weapons, Watson slinging the heavy PEW rifle to the front, bracing it against his shoulder. He leapt out into the hallway, firing rapidly. When he ducked for cover, six out of ten men were dead, the others scrambling to hide in doorways. Before Watson could make another attempt to take the rest of them out, four shots rang out, followed by the thuds of bodies hitting the floor.

"You can come out now, it's safe," a familiar voice called out, and Watson would have dropped the rifle if it had not been for the shoulder strap. Ignoring Irene's frantic motions for him to stay put, he stepped out into the corridor.

"Mary?"

She stood at the end of the corridor, PEW rifle hanging at her side. There was a scarf wrapped around her face, and she pulled it down when she saw Watson. Stepping over the bodies, she ran to Watson, throwing her arms around him and clinging to him.

"I saw you die," Watson blurted out when she pulled back from the embrace.

"This is why I wanted you to stay where you were," she told him, cupping his face with her hands. "I didn't want you to see what he was doing."

Watson stared at her open mouthed, then shook his head. "I don't care about that anymore. You're here, you're alive, you're _safe_." He bent his head down and kissed her, Mary responding eagerly.

Irene cleared her throat quietly. "I hate to interrupt your reunion, but we're not safe here," she said. "We shouldn't stay out in the open like this."

Mary and Watson parted reluctantly. "Yes, of course," Mary said, a blush flooding color into her cheeks. "Where is Sherlock?" she asked.

"And, uh, the other Sherlock."

"They've gone after Angier's machine," Watson said. "If everything goes well, they'll be able to cut off Angier's ability to make more sol—"

Mary held up a hand, cutting him off. "We need to get to them, _right now_ ," she said, walking away from Watson and Irene without waiting to see if they were behind her. "They're walking into a trap," she called out over her shoulder, and that spurred them into following.

"What do you mean?" Watson asked when he caught up with her.

"Angier has a spy in Tesla's camp," Mary explained. "He knows they're coming, and he's set a trap for them."

"They have twice the intelligence of Sherlock Holmes," Irene said. "They'll be fine."

Mary shook her head. "The spy broke into the medical lab at Wardenclyffe, and stole the serums Tesla had stored there. Angier is planning on using them on his people."

"Tesla said they were in a secure lab," Watson said. "The spy must have had high-level access to get in there."

"Tesla says a lot of things that aren't quite true," Mary pointed out, and Watson nodded. "Now come on, we need to hurry."

#

Sherlock and Holmes entered the duplication machine room. Holmes went first, approaching the machine cautiously, examining it from a safe distance.

"I'm fairly certain that's the end to avoid," he pointed. "As long as we stay on the perimeter, we should be safe."

"We don't really need to get that close, do we?" Sherlock asked. "Why don't we just use our PEWs and get it over with?"

"That could be the best solution, yes," Holmes nodded, and drew his PEW. "Shall we?"

They raised their PEWs and aimed them at the machine. Before they could pull the triggers, shots rang out, carefully aimed over their heads to avoid hitting the machine.

"Drop your weapons and put your hands up," a rough voice called out. "Do it now!"

They did as they were told, and someone came up behind them and picked up the weapons. "All right. Start walking. Mister Angier will want to speak with you."

Holmes glanced a Sherlock, who gave him the barest of nods, and together they threw themselves toward the gap in the wall the original Sherlock Holmes had come through on the morning of his duplication.

"We have a problem," Holmes said.

"And what's that?"

"We're supposed to be going that way," he pointed to the inside of the room and the corridor leading out of it which they had come from. "This way takes us to the Promenade, which was flooded last I checked."

PEW bolts flew over their heads, singing the wall behind them. "It would seem we don't have a choice," Sherlock said. "We can't possibly fight them all off."

The shots flying over their heads stopped, and the machine's hum started up again. Holmes sighed. "It appears we weren't as successful as we thought," he said. "There are too many of them, though. We need a different plan."

"I have an idea," Sherlock said. "Follow me." He got to his feet, and using the broken wall as cover, fired wildly into the room. He stuck his head into the gap, looking around, waiting until he had the attention of the men guarding the machine. When he heard the shout of alarm, he ducked back down, grinning at Holmes. "Let's go," he mouthed, and headed down the tunnel, in the opposite direction from the Promenade.

"Where are we going?" Holmes demanded in a whisper.

"If I'm remembering the map correctly, this tunnel connects to an almost direct path to the arboretum," Sherlock told him, pulling Holmes into a niche, just in time to avoid a PEW blast hitting him.

"Why the devil are we going to the arboretum?"

"We can use the dinosaurs there," Sherlock said. They ran for the next niche in the tunnel, and then the next one. "They've probably grown hungry by now."

"What if they don't? Once we're inside the arboretum, we'll be trapped."

"Not necessarily. Remember the tunnel leading out from the control center? Besides, we don't really have a choice. We don't have our weapons, we can't take them on."

"All right," Holmes sighed. "I'm not sure how I feel about leaving our lives in the hands of a bunch of household pets, but it's better than staying here and being caught or killed."

They ran as fast as they could, rounding the last corner seconds ahead of another barrage of PEW fire. When they reached the arboretum door, they went inside. Rather than going down the hill as they had the first time Holmes and Watson had been there, Sherlock and Holmes headed for the trees overlooking the glass-covered house down below. They found a hiding place only seconds before the door slammed open and their pursuers burst inside.

The armed men split into two groups, three of them staying up top, the rest heading down the hill toward the control center. As Sherlock and Holmes watched, the five men waded into the tall grass, their paths easily visible from the high vantage point.

"Let's hope our little friends are hungry," Holmes said.

"Let's hope there are more than three of them this time," Sherlock added.

The dinosaurs were both hungry and more numerous, as it turned out. As the men walked through the grass below, Sherlock and Holmes could see multiple animals moving through the grass. Several of them were large enough that they were visible above the grass. The larger individuals made short work of the men in the field, bringing them down for the smaller animals to feed on. As the remaining guards watched the scene unfolding below them in horror, Sherlock and Holmes snuck up on them from behind, bringing two of them down with relative ease, and the third one with the assistance of a PEW rifle butt to the head.

Pursuers eliminated, they headed back toward the tunnel where Angier's machine was. Halfway there, they rounded a corner and came face to face with three PEW rifles pointed directly at them. A moment later, the weapons came down, and Watson, Irene, and Mary pulled Sherlock and Holmes into a welcoming embrace.

"You managed to escape, then?" Mary asked.

"It took us a while, but I think we've lost them," Holmes said, shooting Sherlock a grin.

"Come on, then, we should get back to Wardenclyffe," Watson started to herd everyone down the tunnel.

"Wait, we have to go back," Holmes said. "We didn't manage to destroy the machine."

"We can't," Mary shook her head. "They'll have replaced the guards."

"There are five of us now, and we're all armed," Sherlock said. "We can take them on." He turned to go back the way they had originally come.

"But if you don't want to come with us, we're perfectly happy to go alone," Holmes added, following Sherlock.

"Wait," Watson called after them. "We'll come with you."

#

The machine had blown up rather spectacularly, showing them all with sparks, and they had left the tunnel before any more of Angier's men could show up. On the way back to Wardenclyffe, Sherlock announced that all five of them would be returning to London.

"Just think about it! Two of my brains! This would be excellent for our detective work. We could take on twice the cases!"

"Get into twice the trouble," Watson added with a wry grin.

"Oh, come now, Watson," Holmes said. "Surely we'd get out of it twice as fast as well?"

Captain Ryan met them on the steps of Wardenclyffe, frowning. "Were you successful?" he asked without preambles.

"Yes, Captain," Sherlock grinned. "And we found Miss Morstan as well. Mary," he turned to her, "this is Captain Ryan, Mister Tesla's head of security."

"Ma'am," Ryan nodded to her, and was all business again. "We have a problem," he said. "If you'll follow me inside, Mister Tesla is waiting."

Inside, the control center was buzzing, all activity centered on Tesla. When Watson and the others arrived, he turned to them.

"Excellent work," he told them. "And what an innovative way of disposing of your pursuers," he nodded to Sherlock and Holmes. "I shall have to consider the defensive uses of the animals." At the others' looks, Sherlock and Holmes shrugged dismissively.

"We'll tell you later."

"With the machine destroyed, Angier has no reason to put off his attack anymore. Even before the machine was destroyed, his people were on the move."

"Angier had a spy among your people," Mary told Tesla. "He brought the information early this morning."

"Ah," Tesla nodded. "That explains the bodies we found."

"He's also brought with him some of the serums from your medical lab," Mary said, and Tesla paled.

"Impossible! That lab was secure!"

"Not as secure as you thought," Watson said. "Now we'll have to deal with—"

"Excuse me, sir," one of Tesla's men interrupted him, turning to Tesla. "They're in the perimeter corridors." He turned to look at the monitors which showed men running through the corridors, one of them pausing to look at a camera. The man raised his hand, and a bolt of electricity shot from his hand to disable the camera.

"As I was saying, now we'll have to deal with Angier's men being serum-enhanced," Watson said.

"We don't have the men to fight them out in the open," Tesla said. "We'll have to barricade ourselves here, inside Wardenclyffe. If they make it past my machines, this will be our last defense."

"I assume you have supplies? Food, water, weapons?" Watson asked.

"For a time, yes," Tesla nodded. "It's not an ideal solution, I know."

"Watson, where are Sherlock and Holmes?" Irene asked, looking around the room. "Where did they go?"

"The place is locked down," Watson said. "They can't have gone far." He looked around at the increasing chaos, and sighed. "I'll go find them."

He didn't have far too look; a half-closed door in the corridor caught his attention, and he pushed it open just in time to see Sherlock slide the needle into his arm and inject himself with something.

"What the hell are you doing?" He stormed into the room, grabbing the syringe out of Sherlock's hand. "What is this?" There were words etched on the glass of the syringe, and he stared at it. SERUM 17, it read, the remnants of the syringe' contents tinting the letters red. "What did you do?"

Sherlock was bent over the table, his hands gripping the edge tightly, his breathing rapid and shallow. Watson reached for him, and Sherlock straightened up, eyes wide, and a grin on his face.

"I've just given us a chance at winning this fight," he said, lifting his hands up in front of his face.

"You're insane," Watson said. "We don't know how it works, you could die."

"We could all die, Watson," Sherlock said, smiling. "I can help," he flexed his left hand, and it was enveloped by flames. "See?

"What the hell were you thinking, letting him do this?" Watson whirled on Holmes, who shrugged.

"I thought it was a good idea. To go up against Angier's people, we need every advantage we can get."

Watson opened his mouth to protest, but a loud siren interrupted him. "All right, let's go back to the control center. You," he pointed at Sherlock, "keep that to yourself for now. The situation is bad enough as it is without adding your foolishness to it." He grabbed Sherlock's arm and dragged him out of the room, leaving Holmes to follow them.

#

The monitors showed Angier's men swarming through the corridors, some of them attacking the Wardenclyffe defenders with flaming hands, others throwing bolts of electricity arcing over the crowd. Tesla sat at one of the consoles, his hands on a control mechanism, the monitor in front of him showing water streaming past the camera.

"He's going to try and use the squid to block the access corridor," Mary told Watson when he came to stand behind her, taking his hand in hers. They watched Tesla position the squid above the corridor, then send it hurtling down. Tesla switched the display to an internal one, and they watched the squid's tentacles puncture the corridor, impaling several of Angier's men and blocking the tunnel. Fire and electricity hit the squid, and Tesla's control panel went dark as the machine was overloaded.

"He almost looks sad about it," Irene said, watching Tesla. "As if he's lost someone important."

"All his machines are important," Captain Ryan said. "But sometimes, we sacrifice the things and people who are important for the greater good."

There was nothing else they could do, and they turned back to the monitors, watching the fight in the corridor. When fire and electricity did not help to move the squid's tentacles penetrating the tunnel, Angier's men retreated momentarily. Several of them returned, carrying something heavy between them. One of them pointed to the floor, and the others laid their burden down, unfolding it.

"Oh, damn," Captain Ryan said. "This could be a problem."

"What is that?" Watson asked.

"When they were building the city, they used modified diving suits to let men walk on the outside, to do work on the exterior. There were different suits for different purposes, and that one," he pointed at the monitor, "was used to clear terrain." On the screen, the man directing the others had put on the suit, the others helping him with the weight of it.

"The suit has a small engine attached to it," Ryan said as they watched the man strap on a harness. "And the engine powers that," he pointed. The men helping the man in the suit brought out a giant drill and strapped it to the suit.

"I can see how this could be a problem," Watson said. "Will they be able to get through the squid?"

"Probably," Ryan said. "I need to make sure they won't be able to get in here," he said. "Whatever happens, stay here with Tesla."

On the screen, they watched the suited man demolish the squid's tentacles with the giant drill. Angier's men surged forward, plunging into the rising water flowing in around the severed tentacles.

"They're almost here," Tesla said, turning away from the monitors. "I do not believe we can hold out much longer."

"Then what do you suggest, Mister Tesla?" Irene said angrily. "You designed this place, you built it. There must be some way of defending it."

"Certainly," Tesla nodded. "I have built machines that can be used for defense, but unfortunately, none of them are designed to withstand electric charges. They will be useless."

"They may slow them down," Holmes pointed out. "Give us a chance to get to safety."

"Yes, of course," Tesla almost shouted, his eyes blazing. "If we can get to the lower levels, we may be able to get to the escape pods. Follow me!" He left the room, leaving the others to run after him.

Angier's men were coming into the facility any way they could, and after an encounter with them that left Tesla's men dead, and Irene limping from where a bolt of electricity struck her leg, Tesla had to take them the long way. After looping back several times, and ten flights of stairs later, they reached a corridor, and Tesla slowed down from the frantic run. He pointed to a heavy door at the end of the corridor.

"There," he said. "We'll be safe in there. The escape pods are a ways away, but I need to open the passage, and the mechanism for that is in there."

Sherlock and Holmes looked around the corridor, then at each other. "I don't think we'll be able to get in there," Holmes said.

"Not if the centurion doesn't want us to, anyway," Sherlock added.

Tesla turned to them, frowning. "You've been snooping where you shouldn't have," he said.

Sherlock shrugged. "We got bored."

They reached the door, and Tesla entered the code on the keypad, but there was no response. He tried again, and again, to no avail.

"I think he's done something to it from the inside," he shook his head, slamming his hand against the door. "I can't get it open." There was a thump from the other side of the corridor, and the sound of footsteps coming toward them. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm afraid I've led you into a dead end."

Holmes pushed Tesla away from the door and pounded his fists on it.

"Centurion! Open the door!" He kicked the door for emphasis. "There are some very bad men coming, and they are more than capable of ripping through this door. If you don't help us deal with them, they'll break the door down anyway!" Watson grabbed him by the back of his jacket and threw him against the wall, just as a bolt of electricity slammed into the door, scorching it.

"Dammit, man, would you condemn us to death just to protect whatever it is you're hiding in there?"

Angier's men were advancing on them, and Watson, Mary, and Irene all drew their weapons. Sherlock shook his head and moved to stand in front of them, his hands at his side.

"Save your firepower for when we have no other options," he said.

"Sherlock, what are you doing? Get out of the way!" Irene reached for him, but Watson stopped her, shaking his head.

"He knows what he's doing," he said. "He might be able to help."

Sherlock raised his hand, flexing his fingers, and the flames came to like, wreathing his hand in a warm glow. Irene and Mary gasped, and Tesla glared at him.

"You've been doing more than snooping, I see," he said.

"If I hadn't, we wouldn't stand a chance," Sherlock said, and turned to Angier's men, clenching his hand into a fist, then thrusting it forward, fingers outstretched. Fire flew from his fingertips, scorching the walls and the floor of the corridor, falling short of Angier's men.

"You don't have enough power for that," Tesla said from where he was standing. "Increased range and power require multiple shots."

"What are you—" Watson turned to Tesla, but before he could finish, the door behind them swung open and the mysterious centurion appeared in the doorway.

Without a word, he stepped forward, moving to stand in front of them, beside Sherlock. He held his arms by his side, bent at a right angle, and held his hands in front of him as if he were waiting for a handshake. As Sherlock watched, the centurion's palms folded open, revealing what definitely looked like gun barrels of some sort. He turned to look over his shoulder.

"Get inside," he said, then moved forward, firing the weapons in his hands at Angier's men. Every shot hit a target, and he mowed them down relentlessly. There were enough of them that they pushed forward, the centurion's shots coming to slowly to take them all out. Sherlock stepped forward beside the centurion, sending fiery blasts toward them. They were still not hitting anyone, but he was able to create a large enough fire in the middle of the corridor that the men couldn't get through.

"Come on, we should go inside," Sherlock said to the centurion, who turned to look at him. "You can't take them all on by yourself, and I'm afraid I'm running out of, uh, firepower," he held up his hand, the flames sputtering out.

They retreated into the room, and the centurion glared at everyone standing around the mysterious cube in the middle of the room, staring at it.

"So this is what he's so obsessed with," Mary said, looking up at it. "He has no idea what it is, or what it does, but he wants it, because it's here."

"Don't," the centurion spoke, his voice rough as if from disuse. "Don't touch it," he clarified to Irene, who was reaching out for the cube.

"Of course," she nodded. "My apologies."

"There are more of them coming," Watson said from the door, where he was watching the corridor. "Sherlock, no! What are you doing?"

Sherlock was leaning against the wall, a syringe in his hand. As Watson ran toward him, he depressed the plunger, injecting the red liquid. He doubled over in pain, the syringe falling from his fingers to shatter on the floor, then straightened up, holding out a hand, flames already coming to life around it.

"It's all right, John," he said, gasping. "Someone needs to do this, it might as well be me." When Watson moved to go to him, he shook his head. "I'm fine. Never been better." The fire traveled up his arm, enveloping but not burning his clothes, and he raised his head defiantly, then stepped into the hallway, wading into the fight, followed by the centurion.

As they watched through a narrow opening in the door, Sherlock's fire was more powerful now, reaching further and burning brighter. Between him and the centurion, they drove Angier's men back to the end of the corridor. Irene, Mary, and Watson joined them, rifles held at the ready.

Sherlock turned to them, his face smudged with soot, his hair standing on end from where he ran his fingers through it, and a wild grin on his face.

"I can certainly see the advantages of this ability," he said, holding his arm out as the flames around it went out. "It's incredible."

"It may very well be incredible," Watson frowned, "but I'm worried about what it's doing to you."

"It's making me feel like I've never felt before," Sherlock said. "Like I can—"

A shot rang out, just barely missing Sherlock's head, and all of them but the centurion ducked for cover. When Watson looked closer, there was a smoking hole in the centurion's shoulder, but he was unaffected. He examined the wound and gaped when he realized there was no blood.

"What are you?"

"That's not important right now," Mary interrupted him as another shot rang out. "We need to go back inside."

They retreated into the room, and the centurion closed the door, locking it behind them.

"Tesla!" Angier's voice rang out from the corridor. "Come out and face me, coward!" Shots echoed off the door.

"Can they get in here?" Watson asked Tesla, who shook his head.

"Unless they physically destroy the door, no." Just then, there was a deafening explosion above them, and as they watched, a crack opened in the ceiling, bringing a steady stream of water into the room.

"You may think you've won, Tesla," Angier raved outside. "The city is in ruins, the tunnels are collapsing, you've kept me from taking the city. But if you think I will allow you to escape, you've got another thing coming!" Something exploded outside the door, the force of the blast shaking the door. "You and I, Tesla, we'll die down here together!"

"Can we still get to the escape pods?" Watson asked Tesla, who nodded.

"It's just one pod, actually," he said. "But then again, we don't need anymore." He looked around the room, water cascading off the strange cube and onto the floor. "Yes, we can get us out. I'm afraid we'll have to leave this behind," he said to the centurion, moving to a panel set into one of the walls.

"I'm not coming," the centurion shook his head. "I need to stay here, protect it."

"You'll die!" Mary gasped. "The city is flooding, you can't stay in the city!"

"The Pandorica is mine to protect," the centurion said, "and I will remain here. I have survived a long time before this, I will survive this, too."

"The passage to the escape pod is open," Tesla told them. "Opening it activated the pod, so we need to go, now, before the timer runs out."

"The five of you, get ready to run," Sherlock told them, reaching for the door. "I'll hold them off, give you a chance to get out."

"Sherlock, no!" Watson grabbed his arm. "You can't! You'll die!"

"It's all right, John," Sherlock cupped his cheek. "The world couldn't handle two of us anyway." He opened the door and slipped outside, hand blazing. Shots rang out, and Sherlock staggered, but kept his balance, and kept going, throwing blasts of fire this way and that.

Watson watched him go, and when more shots hit Sherlock, he tried to throw himself out of the door. Irene and Holmes held him back.

"He's trying to give us a chance to get away safely, John, don't waste his efforts," Irene spoke in his ear, digging her fingers into his arm.

"We need to go," Mary called out to them.

Sherlock paused to look back at them, swaying on his feet, his wounds bleeding profusely. He cupped his hands before him, the flames slowly spreading over his body. "Go! Now!" He gritted his teeth, stumbling forward. He waded into the crowd of Angier's men, spreading his arms to his sides, sending flames shooting out.

Mary and Tesla led the way out of the flooding room, Holmes turning back to look at the centurion. "Are you sure?"

The centurion nodded. "Go," he said.

Holmes ran after the others, and behind them, the roar of an explosion filled the corridor. They felt the blast of heat on their backs as they ran after Tesla. Watson looked back, and Holmes grabbed his hand, pulling him along.

"It won't hold them off for long," Holmes reminded him. "We can't slow down."

#

The hatch leading to the escape pod was at the end of the tunnel. They waded through rising water toward it, casting nervous glances at the wall behind them, where water was rushing in more and more rapidly. When they reached the door, Tesla bent to the lock, working to open it. He glanced at the ankle-deep water and shook his head.

"This is going to be a problem," he said. "If I open this door, and there's much more water than this, it'll interfere with the escape pod mechanism, and we won't be able to leave."

"There's a hatch back there, we could try and close it," Mary pointed. "Come on, Irene, help me."

They'd just reached the hatch and set to work on it when Angier staggered around the corner, giving them a bloodstained grin. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news," he broke into a coughing fit, using one hand to lean against the wall, leaving a bloody handprint, "but you're not rid of me yet." When the coughing fit had passed, Angier turned to Mary. "We could have been good together, you and I," he swayed on his feet, and Mary went to him, ignoring Irene's hand on her arm. "Surely we made beautiful art together?"

"There was nothing beautiful about what you did," Mary told him, reaching up to touch his face. Irene called her name, and Mary dropped her hand. "Goodbye, Robert," she said, backing away from him, not taking her eyes off him. "This is for what you did to me, to Sherlock, to everyone in the city," her voice cracked, and she reached for the locking mechanism.

Angier's eyes followed her hand and he screamed, throwing himself forward as the hatch began to close. It shut just as he reached it, and he pounded his fists on it, screaming Mary's name. As she watched through the porthole, the wall behind Angier finally gave way, and water rushed in in a solid wall, flooding the corridor and sweeping Angier off his feet. Mary watched the water toss him around, and then Irene called to her. When Mary turned, she saw Tesla had been successful in opening the door. Leaving Angier behind, Mary went to Irene, taking her hand, and together, they followed Tesla, Watson, and Holmes into the escape pod.

"I've modified the pod," Tesla was saying as he checked the controls and they took seats and strapped themselves in. "It has propulsion, and a store of water and food, so we'll be all right. Once we reach the surface, we can set a course, for Australia or South America, and go home from there."

The escape pod shook as it detached from its moorings, and Tesla took the controls, steering it to avoid any collisions. As they ascended, they watched the city below them, crumpled tunnels and flooded domes, the lights winking out slowly.

"Someday, I hope to rebuild the city," Tesla said, a wistful note in his voice. "It's the perfect site for research."

"You're not likely to get more funding," Irene told him. "Not after the disaster this place turned out to be."

Tesla grinned. "I'm certain I can convince my backers to continue funding the project," he said. "After all, I've been _very_ useful to them so far. Not to mention profitable."

"You may be able to convince your private backers, Mister Tesla," Mary told him, glaring at him. "But I can assure you, your project will not receive further government approval. We're going to make sure of that."

"There are governments beside the British one, Miss Morstan," Tesla told her, smiling knowingly.

#

"What on earth?" Mary's shout brought Irene and Watson running to the sitting room. She stood over the contents of their bags, scattered on the floor, watching something moving around in the bundle of clothes in the middle of the pile. She knelt beside it, reaching for the clothes it was tangled up in, and gasped when the head of a miniature dinosaur peeked out from the sleeve of her jacket.

"Where did you come from?" she asked, reaching for it and pulling it free. It nuzzled her hand, making quiet little mewling noises. "I think we have a stowaway," she told Irene and Watson, picking the animal up. Gladstone and Grant came running, nuzzling at the baby dinosaur.

"I think they like him," Irene said, watching Grant and the new arrival nuzzling each other. "We should keep him. What do you think, John?"

"If I say no, will you listen?" Watson asked, then grinned. "No, of course you won't. Can you at least promise me this is the last one? No more pets, all right? We've got enough people and animals to take care of as it is," he said, looking over his shoulder at the library door, where Holmes had retreated.

As Mary and Irene cooed over the new member of their family and arguing over names, Holmes watched them through a narrowly open door. As the conversation settled down, he closed the door and leaned his back against it, raising his left hand in front of his face and wiggled his fingers. Faint blue sparks arced between his fingers, and Holmes glanced at the box standing on his desk, filled with several vials of a blue liquid that gave off a faint glow.

He strode to the desk, and picked up a syringe, then filled it from a larger bottle of clear liquid, then topped it off with a small amount of the blue liquid. He set the syringe on top of the lid of the box, and the instructions printed there in neat block letters:

  
FOR BEST RESULTS A SEVEN PERCENT SOLUTION IS RECOMMENDED   


He considered the syringe, flexing his fingers and watching the sparks flicker between them. He thought back to Arcadia, when he'd been the first to reach for the syringe, and it was only after he'd injected himself, the other Holmes had followed suit, with a different serum. He'd been disappointed when it seemed like he wasn't going to develop any new abilities, but then he'd found his hand enveloped in blue sparks on the trip from South America to London, and realized the serum he'd used had a delayed effect.

He'd taken every possible opportunity to test the new ability, staying late into the night out on deck of the airship they'd taken home, watching the electricity spark off his hands, making it arc along the raining of the ship. When they got caught in a thunderstorm one night, he'd snuck out onto the deck and thrown electricity around, using the lightning to hide what he was doing. He'd earned himself a scolding from the captain and gotten himself banned from staying out on the deck after dinner, but it had been worth it.

Now it seemed the effect was wearing off, the electricity growing weak and irregular. Perhaps it was for the best, he thought, letting it die away. After all, what use would he have for such an ability in London? Wouldn't it be better to let it fade, and move on? There was laughter outside, and the sound of someone running past the door. It would be easy to put the box away, to just walk out of the library and into the arms of the people he loved. He reached for the box and the pile of newspapers laid on his desk by Mrs. Hudson fell over.

The progression of headlines caught his eye, going from one murder the day he and Watson had left for Arcadia, three more two days later, and the death toll being up to eleven since they'd returned. The newspapers were calling Scotland Yard out for their inability to solve the case, urging everyone to be cautious when going out on the streets, and speculating on the identity of the killer—Jack the Ripper making a comeback, Spring-Heeled Jack escalating his campaign of terror, or supernatural monsters from another world dragging their victims off to be horribly mutilated in abhorrent rituals.

Holmes put the newspapers down, and picked up the syringe again. There was to be no respite for him, it seemed, and he would undoubtedly soon be needed to take on another case. And what harm was there in having a little extra insurance, should it prove to be something out of the ordinary, placing him and his family in danger?

The syringe slid smoothly under his skin, and Holmes didn't hesitate before depressing the plunger. The serum burned entering his blood, and he staggered back from the desk, falling into his armchair, gasping. When he could breathe again, he held up his hand and willed the electricity into existence, watching as the blue arcs sparking between his fingers grew in brightness and intensity. On a whim, he threw his hand forward in the direction of the tall stack of newspapers leaning against the fireplace.

The bolt of electricity struck the paper and set it ablaze, sending up a great plume of flame and smoke that had Holmes scrambling to his feet in the rush to extinguish it. He knocked over the empty tea kettle, tripped over a footstool, and stubbed his toe on a stack of medical texts piled against the table. He used a throw he grabbed off the couch to extinguish the fire, and made it back to his desk to hide the box with the serum vials in the drawer just as Watson burst into the library. He surveyed the damage and narrowed his eyes at Holmes, who was sitting in his armchair, his feet propped up on the desk.

"Problem, Holmes?"

"Not at all, Watson," Holmes told him. "Why would you think that?"

Watson opened his mouth, looking around the room again, then shook his head. "Never mind. Come on," he said. "Mrs. Hudson's bringing tea and sandwiches, and we need to name our new pet."

Holmes got to his feet, made sure his desk drawer was locked, and slid the key into his pocket. "Of course," he grinned. "Wouldn't miss it for the world." He joined Watson in the door, leaning into him and enjoying the warmth of his body. "We should hurry, before they decide not to wait and name it something dreadful."

The sound of Mary and Irene laughing drifted toward them, and Holmes closed the library door behind him. The monsters outside could wait until the morning; for now, he was going to enjoy spending the evening with his family.


End file.
